inklingfair We baked bread without yeast and with nowhere to journey; we grew
pots of aloe and rosemary. Some we killed
without meaning to.
Outside we kept from touching. Outside we wore half our faces and smiled
with our eyes. We made our children wash their hands. Again and again
they said, “After the quarantine.”
They said it every day, then once a week, then rarely. We forgot how it was to embrace.
We talked with heads in boxes. We watched as the world crumbled
outside. People struggled to breathe.
Outside the monsoon whistled in the dark, as many people did, not knowing
where the next blow would fall. Some we killed
without knowing. We prayed for respite. We waged war
against the careless rich, the cruel state, the brutish deaths
every day, then once a week, then rarely.
Shut in our boxes, we embraced
our children. Learned to hunker low for a siege and to grow
yeast from air. We washed our hands. We broke bread. We touched each other
with our eyes. Again and again
we said, “After the quarantine.”
We lived in the year of the plague.
Edited, March 11, 2021: It is almost a year since the Philippine government first imposed a “community quarantine“, which has not been lifted up to now.
This has been the world’s longest lockdown. Under the “quarantine”, the Anti-Terror Law was hastily passed, allowing arrest without warrant and weeks of detention without charge. A major media network critical of the government was shut down. There have been violent and deadly crackdowns on activists and organizers. Influencers and government officials get away with mass gatherings with a slap on the wrist or complete impunity while rallyists are arrested and civic spaces are eroded. This pandemic has been made into an excuse to repress human rights.
We lived through the year of the plague. Others did not. When will it be over?
