Browsing the "pandemic poetry" Tag

Poetry

History Lesson

October 12th, 2021 | by Margaret Elysia Garcia

(The president said Lat-tee-nex aren’t getting vaccinated because we fear documentation and deportation.  Demoralization. Department chair: don’t they realize they’re


Poetry

Breathing Lessons

September 8th, 2021 | by Katie Hoogendam

My mother died of a lung disease,one that stalked her all my life. In kindergarten, I was pulled from class, taken to the hospital,


Poetry

Praise to Bedtime During a Pandemic

March 16th, 2021 | by Ginny Wiehardt

Ode to lavender lotion, to the Alice in Wonderland recordedforty years ago, to my son’s drooping eyelids, my computer’s backlit keys, my tapping fingers tempted


Body

Advent 2020

December 21st, 2020 | by Ezra Stone

ONE: A wave of grief for everything that came before  Today, the clouds are like ribs, like my ribs close



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  • “Having my adult child at home has changed how we relate to each other. I have to keep reminding myself that I am no longer in charge of his life.” “Back when Dylan was 16 and should have been getting his driver’s license, he had brain surgery. Dylan has epilepsy. My husband and I lived in the hospital for two weeks. We were eating salads that my in-laws brought, a break from cafeteria food. #nicu #birth #breathe “My grandmother, the wildest woman I knew, never met my second child. Zayne Heather Logan passed away shortly before my own miracle entered the world.” “Just the day before I had been twelve years old and pregnant. Now I was recovering from the abortion. Only a year before that, in what felt like my body’s ultimate betrayal, I got my first period. It had come regularly every month since until it didn’t and I was nauseous every day. Even though I’d had sex for the first time just a few weeks before, it didn’t occur to me that I could be pregnant.” “I didn’t know if I would look back on this as the moment I met my son, or if it would become the memory of cradling someone else’s son in my arms—kissing his brand-new forehead, whispering congratulations, and then placing him back in the arms of his mother, never seeing either of them again.” “Their baby books sat waiting to be updated with their latest milestones. I’d become a ghostwriter, setting aside my own journal to document their days. It dawned on me: I’d been crowded out of my own home. Even worse, I’d participated in my own disappearance.” Write for us! Get all the details at muthamagazine.com. In our newest Ask a MUTHA installment, MUTHAs share their thoughts on how abortion access has affected their lives.

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