Little Death Pandemic

All of our moments

bundled together, as if

in a burst, like birth

or science: the sparks

that scar, though they

might avoid the record

if you act delighted

upon the recognition.

If you’re in on the joke,

tits and rodents

in a fur coat: A woman

scandalized by your directness,

as if you were a fifty-ton

bumble bee flying, spreading

your honey along with

the pandemic. Diseases

were shameful, then.

Now they are rebellious,

like adultery, a stab

at artistic freedom.

A stencil of a bee’s exoskeleton

is much like that of hairy mammals:

their silhouettes, cameos,

your profile in ivory despite

the bans: you were always

illegal, off-limits, which is

what made you so tempting.

The only way I’ll know you

got through this unharmed

is if I go looking for your tombstone

and find it lacking; no black

and white portrait above

your vitals, though you were

always on the other side,

the anonymous, not quite 

evil, which is why it was

so hard to defeat you, while

I was mere youth and idealism. 

Jane Rosenberg LaForge lives in New York. Her novel, The Hawkman: A Fairy Tale of the Great War (Amberjack Publishing) was a finalist in two categories in the 2019 Eric Hoffer awards. Her next novel, Sisterhood of the Infamous, is forthcoming this year from New Meridian Arts Literary Press. Her most recent poetry collection is Daphne and Her Discontents (Ravenna Press); her next will be Medusa's Daughter (Animal Heart Press) in 2021.