New Year
By Eneida Alcalde
Everyone’s dying & I’ve stopped feeling after more than a million
reported deaths. More than Gettysburg, more than Hiroshima,
more than 9-11, more than any massacre we’ve led in the name of
our names & precious statues commemorating lives spilled across
battles fields to preserve our freedoms to love who we choose, kill
who we must, die how we wish, masks off, lips locking like it’s
1999. But it’s 2021. More than a hundred years after the last
pandemic, more than three-hundred days since I last kissed my
mother, since I last hugged my father & said goodbye under a
purple sky, driving into a future none of us predicted. Ignorance &
greed the surviving ethos from sea to shining sea where we perish
by the thousands, day after day, after many, many days. My father
incinerated—his ashes boxed—no more breaths left. No time
machine to take us back to when none of us were at risk, dancing
away nights, hips moving to sweet beats veiling Biblical threats:
We were never meant to remember. We were never meant to
survive. Tick tock, Tick tock, American-borne killers’ fists
pumping high, middle fingers cutting through the air along with
the viral lies. Failing us all until we die