Caitlin Cacciatore
Brighter Days
winter brought little else save for sorrow—
and when it was over, we called
upon the Gods of sickness we’d all but abandoned in health;
we called one another vile names
and took the names of Jesus, Mary and Joseph in vain;
we fought in the street over petty things;
we abandoned our fires
and all the pretty things
that came along with them—
last I heard,
the nurses were swaying on their feet
against the tidal wave of the sick;
doctors were going out like matches;
(the forces of nature always seem to take us by surprise)
the dying said their wedding vows in makeshift chapels
far from the ones they loved;
the burial mounds grew mountainous,
but I can already see you on the other side of this—
a survivor picking your way across the fields
where the dead were piled in mass graves;
you will plant a flower for every life that was lost,
and I can see you, even now, planting the seeds of hope
and watering them with your tears.
—Submitted on March 23, 2020
Caitlin Cacciatore‘s work has appeared in The Roadrunner Review, Willawaw Literary Journal, and The Martian Chronicle, among journals. She is a Macaulay Honors Student studying artificial intelligence at Baruch College, pursuing a self-designed curriculum including physics, math, computer science, and philosophy.
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