15-16.06.20 Marta Lucía Vargas
Amor in the Time of Corona
Conditions and Conversations
Morning Dream: I’m in an emergency room waiting area. The walls are green, many shades of green and all the seats are vacant. I read the posters on the walls, handwritten, huge charts listing conditions in black, capital letters, HEART DISEASE, DIABETES, STRESS, ASTHMA. The reception nurse asks me for papers, I don’t have papers, my hands search for pockets, I don’t have pockets. I wake, out of breath, gasping for air.
********
Text from A: a screenshot taken from the Aster(ix) Zoom celebration chat for The Poetry Issue: When Marta Lucia said, “decreased lung capacity” I heard “decreased love capacity’—what does that say about me? About me in this moment?—In any case, thank you for increasing my love capacity, A. Siempre. What is our capacity for love? What is this shortness of breath I’ve experienced, pre-Corona, in times of stress or gentle enthusiasm? Stress or eagerness brings it on. I recount this condition and hear George Floyd’s pleas. The breath, to breathe, the gift, the given, what we might take for granted, what we have trouble taking, what is taken from us. The conditions listed in my dream, the disproportionate deaths, of Black, Blatinx, Latinx, and Indigenous people taken by Covid-19, how Covid-19 smacks of our horrific mistreatment of nature, of one another.
********
I walk to the park, to hone my mind, to move. Here, where my 16 year-old sprained her ankle last week. She maneuvered and tripped over a tree root. There were too many people, she said, without masks, too close in proximity, why the huddle? The belief that this togetherness is safe is warm weather making fools of us. I see how the center of the park sags more than ever, how it’s become a swamp. Apparently, a brook runs beneath. In 1908, the tributary of the Rahway River was covered over to combat a mosquito problem. It’s common knowledge that bats can resolve mosquito problems. Neighbors demand that the township brush up on history, that we remember how pumps were once activated, how neglecting pumps has consequences, how our town could be confronting Zika virus with Covid-19 this summer, how the surrounding houses have water damage, how town administrators will be held responsible, to which they responded by acknowledging complexities, costs, a year’s timeline, the priority to reconstitute the park’s well because fissures exist, because verified contaminants exist, because testing for bio-contaminants is urgent, because they must ensure the well isn’t under the influence of groundwater. An alternative might be to shut down the well. I’m impressed by this urgency, this back and forth in the face of the complex and the costly, this language of restructure. The notion to abolish. Is this public community forum a popular education opportunity? Next on the agenda…brushing up on our racist histories, abolishing the prison industrial complex, re-envisioning racistcapitalism, reimagining justice, public health, education…would we be game? This was once Lenape land. I think about the brook beneath, covered up by lawn-turned-swamp, demanding to be heard.
********
My two daughters and I read Audre Lorde’s “Power” and talk power, Lorde’s images of force, of ‘rhetoric’ in the poem, her rhetoric-sing throughout. We write, tarry with language for over an hour, beginning with, “The difference between poetry and rhetoric/is being ready to kill/ yourself/instead of your children.” Our questions emerge: what does a new justice system look like, what can engagement for us look like at this moment?
********
While I work, a Facetime call comes in from my 14-year old, who jogs in the park. She wants me to know there’s a protest, did I know, she’s not sure for what, masks are on, ok, it’s Black Lives Matter, she wants to join, she doesn’t have a sign, is it ok? I hear the self-criminalizing in her ask, the way she knows being safeguarded by a violent entity isn’t a safety. Is she safe? The gathering takes place at the flagpole, near the newly formed swamp—NJ Teachers for Black Lives Matter—over 45 districts turn out. The impetus: to show solidarity for students who have broken silences for racial justice, against police brutality and the murder of black people. They are not alone. Cultural workers demonstrate their mettle.
********
In my call with K we talk power struggles, change-making in academia, change in this new moment, we talk poetry, narrative medicine, tarot cards, new organizings, applying mass pressures, the lies we carry in our bodies, how lies take our bodies, who participated in placing them there, how difficult to reverse them, how to believe we are enough, how to keep healthy. When we end, I write. In my notes, I find: Las Amazonas will become a C02 emitter in 15 years. The note has no reference—I’ll look into that, too, we’re under a time constraint. Meanwhile, moss has taken to growing rampant on my front steps, breaking them. It’s incredibly gorgeous, diverse in forms and greens. Do I have a water problem?
Conditions and Conversations
Morning Dream: I’m in an emergency room waiting area. The walls are green, many shades of green and all the seats are vacant. I read the posters on the walls, handwritten, huge charts listing conditions in black, capital letters, HEART DISEASE, DIABETES, STRESS, ASTHMA. The reception nurse asks me for papers, I don’t have papers, my hands search for pockets, I don’t have pockets. I wake, out of breath, gasping for air.
********
Text from A: a screenshot taken from the Aster(ix) Zoom celebration chat for The Poetry Issue: When Marta Lucia said, “decreased lung capacity” I heard “decreased love capacity’—what does that say about me? About me in this moment?—In any case, thank you for increasing my love capacity, A. Siempre. What is our capacity for love? What is this shortness of breath I’ve experienced, pre-Corona, in times of stress or gentle enthusiasm? Stress or eagerness brings it on. I recount this condition and hear George Floyd’s pleas. The breath, to breathe, the gift, the given, what we might take for granted, what we have trouble taking, what is taken from us. The conditions listed in my dream, the disproportionate deaths, of Black, Blatinx, Latinx, and Indigenous people taken by Covid-19, how Covid-19 smacks of our horrific mistreatment of nature, of one another.
********
I walk to the park, to hone my mind, to move. Here, where my 16 year-old sprained her ankle last week. She maneuvered and tripped over a tree root. There were too many people, she said, without masks, too close in proximity, why the huddle? The belief that this togetherness is safe is warm weather making fools of us. I see how the center of the park sags more than ever, how it’s become a swamp. Apparently, a brook runs beneath. In 1908, the tributary of the Rahway River was covered over to combat a mosquito problem. It’s common knowledge that bats can resolve mosquito problems. Neighbors demand that the township brush up on history, that we remember how pumps were once activated, how neglecting pumps has consequences, how our town could be confronting Zika virus with Covid-19 this summer, how the surrounding houses have water damage, how town administrators will be held responsible, to which they responded by acknowledging complexities, costs, a year’s timeline, the priority to reconstitute the park’s well because fissures exist, because verified contaminants exist, because testing for bio-contaminants is urgent, because they must ensure the well isn’t under the influence of groundwater. An alternative might be to shut down the well. I’m impressed by this urgency, this back and forth in the face of the complex and the costly, this language of restructure. The notion to abolish. Is this public community forum a popular education opportunity? Next on the agenda…brushing up on our racist histories, abolishing the prison industrial complex, re-envisioning racistcapitalism, reimagining justice, public health, education…would we be game? This was once Lenape land. I think about the brook beneath, covered up by lawn-turned-swamp, demanding to be heard.
********
My two daughters and I read Audre Lorde’s “Power” and talk power, Lorde’s images of force, of ‘rhetoric’ in the poem, her rhetoric-sing throughout. We write, tarry with language for over an hour, beginning with, “The difference between poetry and rhetoric/is being ready to kill/ yourself/instead of your children.” Our questions emerge: what does a new justice system look like, what can engagement for us look like at this moment?
********
While I work, a Facetime call comes in from my 14-year old, who jogs in the park. She wants me to know there’s a protest, did I know, she’s not sure for what, masks are on, ok, it’s Black Lives Matter, she wants to join, she doesn’t have a sign, is it ok? I hear the self-criminalizing in her ask, the way she knows being safeguarded by a violent entity isn’t a safety. Is she safe? The gathering takes place at the flagpole, near the newly formed swamp—NJ Teachers for Black Lives Matter—over 45 districts turn out. The impetus: to show solidarity for students who have broken silences for racial justice, against police brutality and the murder of black people. They are not alone. Cultural workers demonstrate their mettle.
********
In my call with K we talk power struggles, change-making in academia, change in this new moment, we talk poetry, narrative medicine, tarot cards, new organizings, applying mass pressures, the lies we carry in our bodies, how lies take our bodies, who participated in placing them there, how difficult to reverse them, how to believe we are enough, how to keep healthy. When we end, I write. In my notes, I find: Las Amazonas will become a C02 emitter in 15 years. The note has no reference—I’ll look into that, too, we’re under a time constraint. Meanwhile, moss has taken to growing rampant on my front steps, breaking them. It’s incredibly gorgeous, diverse in forms and greens. Do I have a water problem?
