Quarantine Poems

Quarantine Poems

by clark meeder Twitter: @earth_stellium Instagram: @earthstellium Ko-Fi: ko-fi.com/earthstellium PayPal: paypal.me/earthstellium

DEC 2020

The early days of quarantine I had gone out to get groceries at 7 AM On a Tuesday, just after the first lockdown had been announced Trying to avoid the usual rush of hundreds if not thousands of people waking up and sipping coffee in such a way that you can see the still sleepy motions of their hands as they take a shaky sip and the steam rolls off the lid of their plastic reusable cup with the logo long scraped off in the dish washer and they briefly close their eyes and for an atomic second there is peace and quiet and caffeine And all the countless others, drivers with keys jingling and kids shrieking to each other as they run too far ahead but always manage to stay perfectly on ever narrowing pavement with their backpacks acting as counter-weights as they shove each other playfully and wake up the city with their too early noise But this morning, for the first time, there was absolutely nothing moving at 7 AM in the centre of London.

It was cold and still dark and yet because this is London There are always a few cabs and cars (there were before this) double decker buses illuminating the streets with the warm tinged fluorescent lighting spewing from the double rows of windows As the upper deck passes by, a brief light is cast on all those below and it feels like rays of sun breaking from between clouds for a brief moment Until someone runs into you and knocks you into the side of the bus stop because they missed their ride But not then.

There was nothing, nobody at 7 AM, when usually I’d be already flooded with stimuli as the dew lifted from the plants growing between cracks in the cement as people shouted and garbage trucks roared and creaked as they lift the massive bins from behind all the flat blocks And the noise of people shouting after one another to wait for the bus, hold the bus, you forgot your bag, your ticket is in my pocket Nothing.

It had never been quiet like that Not this close to the tube station or the high street or the clubs and bars and market and the primary school and the bus stops For the first time, I heard a magpie rustle somewhere in the lone tree on the corner

And it was my first time wearing a fabric mask over my face like this, so my glasses were fogged up to the point I could hardly see anything at all But I listened And the magpie rustling faded out as I walked carefully through an empty London at dawn And I felt a sense of simultaneous peace and terror, absolute terror I had never seen nobody There was nobody In central London It was a ghost town And I saw a double decker go by with only the driver inside, an out of service message on the destination scroll And I finally saw someone else, who had only come out to briefly lock their shop doors before heading back inside and upstairs And I reached the central junction, with bus lanes and four lanes of traffic and a bus lane that was usually so packed as to be genuinely dangerous And there was perhaps two cars, another out of service bus, and nothing else And while I knew this was safer, with some mystery virus sweeping the world like all the horror movies I so love, for there to be nobody around was the better option But it felt Like the end Of the world.

The fatigue of others Gradually, people began to come out more and more, later and later in the day I don’t know if it is because of any one thing, any one factor Perhaps they couldn’t tolerate the existential crisis of one of the largest cities in the world going silent, as it gave them enough quiet to think in for once, and it was too daunting to be alone with your thoughts in a small room for months (although I’ve been doing that this whole time) Or perhaps it was boredom, misunderstanding, doubt, an inability to cope, anger, frustration, an unwillingness to believe, More and more posts online began to cast conspiracy into the minds of those who dared check the tags; I watched as people went from anxious to tired to angry to simply refusing to care anymore.

For whatever reasons, by whatever logic, the end effect is the same: packed streets in the middle of a pandemic.

At one point, I was mocked by some of my neighbours for wearing a mask, as they had spotted me coming back from the grocery store.

One of them jokingly coughed at me, with no mask on. The rest looked at me as if they were about to beat me.

At another point one of them knocked on my bedroom window and demanded I come outside to hug them without a mask I did not; The fear the suggestion put into my heart, the idea of close contact, physical contact, proximity in any other way to another human being or the invisible cloud of their breath that would linger around them The concept struck such fear into my heart that I could barely manage my weak reply; In an attempt to not seem rude, I simply said I was in the middle of something and once they huffed and hand-waved me and left, I locked and closed my window, my only source of what was once fresh air now becoming a potential source of disease even while I remain inside, another day, every day, every moment since March The skate park across the street filled up, parents with kids and teenagers who confidently believe nobody can tell they’ve been doing drugs (everyone can tell) held some kind of contest; they operated a barbecue from the side and I would estimate two hundred people attended. I stayed inside, terrified of the people around me on all sides.

It was as though nobody had any idea of the virus, no concept that they were going to kill so many people for the sake of skatepark barbecue. That they were going to die because they didn’t want to cover their face for five minutes. I was watching a subtle, collective death.

Failure and aggression Once it became clear the governments of the world, with the sole exceptions of New Zealand and Australia, were purely interested in protecting capital and not lives, the citizenry gave up.

There was no choice.

People forced onto public transport to get to work because their retail job was deemed essential but the pharmacy down the road was still closed, open on select hours only.

Schools open, only to infect hundreds of children and teachers and families.

Politicians routinely ignoring quarantine advice, spotted travelling during restricted travel, spotted at parties while social distancing rules are in place.

And once people saw and understood that their lives were worth nothing in a capitalist society, that there was nothing they could do to get their government to care about them as human beings, a very real despair and anger took hold.

This is in addition to those who began to falter earlier, who went skating and refused to wear masks Now hardly anyone is wearing a mask, the streets are full, and anyone wearing a mask is seen in many cases as being a reminder of all the fear in the world; I have been spit on for wearing a mask, while trying to get groceries, the only time I leave my flat and for no more than twenty minutes at a time.

Within that twenty minutes, I have been shouted at, spit on, and threatened. People purposefully follow me to red lights where I have to wait to cross the street and stand far too close, sometimes even pulling down their own mask to cough at me, or in many more cases, I have seen people just walking around without a mask on loudly shouting and coughing and spitting at anyone they can run up to.

There is a unique aggression, and I do not know if it is in my area alone, or if other areas, likely similar places (inner city areas) may also have this type of experience.

What I do know is that there are two groups that don’t wear masks: those who are terrified to face the reality of the situation and cannot handle it so they pretend they are fine, and those who are genuinely angry to the point of assaulting or attempting to assault others.

Three days ago, on my way to Marks and Spencer’s to pick up vegetables and more soup tins, someone coughed and spit on me, shouted unintelligible noises into my ear, and followed me for about a block.

I never got my food; I ran home and took a shower and washed my clothes.

I had gone out at 8 AM on a Sunday morning, typically a low traffic time, but earlier in the week the lockdown conditions had been loosened to allow for retail spending during the Christmas period.

No stimulus money for the population. No financial aid for most people, most egregiously the disabled, the homeless, and immigrants. The poor are being forced to work essential jobs with high contact with others and a high likelihood of illness, with no support.

Now more stores are opening, people are flooding in, the high street was packed as it ever was before the virus poisoned the air like so much medieval miasma, and we are heading towards Brexit in 25 days as of the time of this writing.

As of today, 07 Dec 2020, the UK has 1.72 Million cases. We have 61,245 deaths.

Worldwide, there are 67 Million cases. 1.54 Million deaths.

We will see how much worse this gets.

It will get worse.

Mental state The future is uncertain. Every day is uncertain, even though for people like me, we have been inside for months on end, for a year.

A full year. I have not been outside of my bedroom, with the exception of getting food, for a year.

Time ceases to exist. Day and night blend, and sleep schedules cease to exist. Mental health declines, at first slowly, then rapidly, and stability is a thing of the past. Perpetual anxiety, depression; For me, I have reached a point of fear so severe that I feel no emotions at all. There is nothing left in me but fear.

I don’t know what I will do, because I don’t know what I can do.

Nothing. Every second ticks down. There is nothing but the stale musty air and four small walls.

And the rage and fear of every other person on this Earth is overbearing, psychically toxic, a poison on top of another poison.

I will run out of money for food. Will I starve? Will that even be the worst thing that could happen to me, at this point? At least I’d die here. It often feels like we’re all going to die soon, anyway.

I don’t know if this latest person to cough and spit on me has given me the virus.

I have a headache, but that may well be from not sleeping, a minimal diet, a lack of exercise as I can’t go outside at all as the street are too full and too risky, it could be from the poor lighting in my flat or the bright monitor I’m staring at right now.

I will have to wait until I am symptomatic to get a test; I cannot drive, so cannot reach a testing centre, and so I have to wait until I qualify for one to be sent to me.

If I am sick, I will not be able to get my HRT injections from my local clinic, or my other medicines, meaning I will be in psychological and physical agony on top of the virus.

Overall, I am tired. Is that the right word? I am past tired.

We are all tired, but this type of fatigue is in the very electricity of the body, it is in the spirit.

I spent far too long every day in a state of deep dissociation. I sent off 16 job applications last weekend, I have sent off six so far toady. I will send off more soon, with my eyes unfocused and my fingertips and toes completely numb and my mind floating in an unending haze, the fog that never goes away, that pervades me and covers me and takes me somewhere beyond.

My back hurts, my eyes hurt. The right one has developed an infection from oral bacteria settling under my eyelid as I breathe heavily in my mask when I wear it to pick up the little food I can afford; I have been given a cream for it which I have been told

will give me glaucoma in that eye, but it’s all they have and I can’t speak to my regular doctor due to current clinic conditions.

My current visa expires next year, in October. Will I have the money to renew it? Will there be a system in place for me to renew it? Will they even accept my reapplication this time? Am I eligible for citizenship yet? I should be, but the only study guide I found- the official one- has been noted as having errors that could cost me my freedom.

I am doing my best to figure out everything, everything, my whole future, my life depends on me surviving this while everything is trying to kill me, everything wants me to die, everything wants me gone in one way or another.

I will be better off dead than going back.

So I keep applying for jobs, all jobs, any job, so I might risk my life so as to be worth a pound so as to file the paperwork that can be denied arbitrarily despite everything, for a chance that I might be able to live.

I have one half of a Valium pill, from the original package of six that were given to me in hospital after my last major panic attack.

I cut it in half and I take half the dose. 0.5mg.

I follow it up with a swig of stale instant coffee that tastes like plastic.

I open my window a crack, and watch the sky change colours over all the buildings around me.

I cannot see the sun.

The vaccine There is talk of vaccine distribution.

I have signed up to help administer it They are offering training to the general public They need all hands on deck; I cannot help but remember what my father, a field medic, told me about triage This is mass triage The most at risk from the virus will get it first I am terrified my elderly disabled father might catch it before the vaccine even reaches his shores; he lives overseas in the worst affected nation in the world (America) And I am terrified of catching it But being a vaccinator is a paid position And I have been unemployed since May with no relief And if I have to die And I might I want to die knowing I helped the people of this nation, all of whom hate me, who treat me like shit and spit on me and tell me openly how much they don’t want me And while I have nothing I have something none of them have I have a soul.

I do not want to die But I am young And this world wants to see me destroyed So while the fear is overwhelming to the degree that I vomited while sending off those applications I sent them off I took the online training currently available If they choose me I do not want to die and hear my father’s tears echo through some higher plane to reach me after I am dead I do not wish to leave this sad, struggling world

But we live in a society where countless lives are sacrificed for the dollar or the pound And I’m going to have to get a job that places me at risk of death simply by way of being a human needing to breathe While a deadly miasma invisibly chokes all whom dare to inhale While I cannot afford adequate protection (i only have two masks) While my anxiety is so severe my hands shake so badly that I have broken keys off of my keyboard from my fingernails catching under the buttons If I have to die I want to die doing something important, something helpful And unlike the politicians, and all those who are blinded by capital and want to shop and party and skate as usual, I believe human life holds value Human life is worth sacrifice If that sacrifice is months of our lives spent strictly in one room, or one building Or if that sacrifice is as petty as not going shopping Or if that sacrifice is as serious as perhaps sacrificing life for another life, or many lives I do not want to get sick, and I do not want to die But the world we live in leaves little choice And if I must die I will walk out into this invisible poisonous cloud that lingers over the globe and nestles in against the surface of the Earth Wading through disease and fear And I will do my best to be safe and survive But I do not control the wind, or the cells of the body And if I die I want you to know That this country hates me But I love the seasons and the trees and the scent of the air in Hampstead Heath and the collective misery of trying to get to Victoria Coach Station. I love the little things of life. I love this place.

And you will spit on me while I go on my way to deliver the vaccine, and you will kill me, and I will still go.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Neurodivergent Immigrant Learning Disabled Transgender Depressed, anxious, need money for food.

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