Pandemic Politics – Poems and Images by M.S. Evans

The Gatekeeper

My dad called
middle of the pandemic;

                   …stage four cancer.

Placing my weight on
gallows humor, I admonished,

“Couldn’t you just get the virus, like everyone else?”

His chuckle,
soft sawdust.

I imagined being there:
unable to hug him, hold his hand.
Saying goodbye
across a green-black lawn.

When travel was allowed, hotels re-opened,
I texted, we can come.

                   She doesn’t want you here.


I sobbed again
for the loss of him,

the loss of me;
daddy’s girl.

Pink Blue Murder

Cops killed a woman
in distress
in the pink brick building.

She smashed everything,
held a knife,
“threatening”,
scared men so early on Sunday.

I wondered,
Did she lose her job, couldn’t make rent?
Lost her mind, alone?


In summers
she’d prop her window open
with the Bhagavad Gita;
sign of a season.

This frozen spring
windows hold their breath.

Stigmata

My wrist pain started
before the uprising,
I thought it was a storm.

Bone on squeaking bone. Deep,
stabbing aches.

Decades
since the police hurt them, dragged
from a protest, witness.

Handcuffed, hands twisted
little, plucked wings.

Twenty years later,
my wrists, stigmata,
portend insurgency.

List of Images:
1. Banner: Copper St. Stairs
2. Grotto
3. U.S. Can
4. Alley Window
5. Tough Times
6. I Can’t Breathe
7. Rosaries
8. Greenway Train
9. Highline Deer
10. Outlaw’s Grave – Boot Hill
11. A Difference
12. Mask at the Lake


M.S. Evans is a writer and visual artist. Originally from Seattle, she currently lives in her family’s old town of Butte, Montana. Her work has been published in Re-Side,  Black Bough Poetry and previously in ‘Geographies’ from Ice Floe Press.  Twitter: @SeaNettleInk  Instagram: @permacrust

Page design and edits: Robert Frede Kenter.

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