Barbara J. Schwegman
Pandemic
What I think of
are the stories of my mother and father.
My father,
turning off all the unused lights
that my sister and I had left on.
My mother,
stocking canned goods on the pantry shelves.
My father,
taking the leftovers from our plates,
“Give it here, I’ll finish it.”
Both of them,
remembering a time
when there was not enough.
Born in the early part of the last century,
living through World War I,
the Great Depression,
ration cards through WWII.
As children,
did my parents have
indoor plumbing?
Was toilet paper a luxury?
Or were the pages
of the Sears Roebucks in use?
There were mentions of corn cobs
And other substitutes.
I hear my father’s voice
saying more than once,
“You don’t know how good
you’ve got it.”
He’s right.
The Depression saw breadlines
on almost every block.
Toilet paper was not as important
As food,
keeping the electricity on,
paying the rent.
Starvation and despair were commonplace.
There is one thing though,
they did have
that we cannot have now.
Human touch.
A hug from a grandmother,
a visit from an aunty, cousins,
uncles.
Gatherings of large and small
families.
Sitting on the front porch
with neighbors.
Having face to face conversations
with friends.
Sharing meals,
dancing cheek to cheek,
singing in choirs or just a duet.
Hopefully, this virus
will not take too many lives.
Hopefully, this isolation
will not scare us
from hugging friends once more,
when we can.
Hopefully, when this ends—
and it will—
we will remember
what it’s like to be together.
And we will cherish that.
And we won’t give a damn
about toilet paper.
—Submitted on 03/31/2020
Barbara J. Schwegman writes: “I have been a writer of poetry my entire life, but have never felt comfortable sharing with anyone other than my close friends. Last night I was practicing social distancing by porch sitting with friends, and shared “Pandemic” with them. They encouraged me to share it with a larger audience.”
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