The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 24

DAY 24: Self-preservation / self-

mutilation, we swing baby

swing low, to and fro

there's a wartime firing squad

outside the front door, I'm sure

it's there, my wife, thin frail

so beautiful in a cotton dress,

cannot stand to be

caged, to feel hunger and

sleep-deprivation, to hear

babies cry, she cannot calm

them, she is hysterical, throwing

objects, which she says helps, it doesn't

help, we wouldn't have a plate

if we had food.

-- I can't take it anymore!

-- no, don't, you'll be killed,

I can't lose you too but

because free will and mercy prevail

she runs screaming out the door into

a shower of bullets, falls

and covers the pavement with

blood.

the woman I love

mother to my children

I couldn't stop her

I tried, she wouldn't listen

-- go out, I said, and you die

-- I don't care, she said, I can't

take another minute of this.

now what?

do I run out too?

can I mourn here in the dark stall?

am I glad to be alive?

swing, baby, swing.