The Yarn Unravels
Jerrice J. Baptiste
People have arrived at loneliness. The virus reduces how much space we share. The time spent chatting in person cut to a few seconds. It lurks behind the mind. Tapers the air we breathe behind a mask, slow inhalation & exhalation.
A young black man is wrapped in tentacles of the Corona Virus. The hospital has turned him away. His body fights the fever, headaches, and chills, his mother can’t comfort him. Sun is in full force outside, ninety degrees Fahrenheit. He watches his plants dry up, but feels too weak to water them. The virus will dissipate as well into a thin cloud some day. The green house he dreams of building will be where his eyes open to each morning.
My girlfriend is in quarantine. She’s sad and wants to see her grand-daughter—baby Rose, who’s crawling her way to her grandma’s house from one coast to another. Her parents are concerned about their black daughter’s future in this world of unmasked faces, discrimination and masked democracy. Minorities tear the envelope to remind they are people too, when their brothers and sisters are shot on the streets for non-existent crimes. Heartbeats race at sight of the police. The crime is being black.
Jerrice J. Baptiste: "I'm an author of eight books. My publishing history includes Rigorous; The Yale Review; The Caribbean Writer; Kosmos Journal; The Tulane Review; The Minetta Review, and many others."