March 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014
I drive an icy valley towards you, where the mountains
alone’re worth a thousand errors; where trees
shake slowly as if on film. Earth’s curtains have built
a frame for us that for once I can’t act myself
out of. I tried to write our bodies in a play; but I confused
our parts; and had to try to flee the stage
under the gold, torn walls of the ballroom.
When we dance I understand an orbit’s pull and circle.
Ours is a life worth losing; let’s unlace it
from its post and see what creature it becomes.
I fear our brains’ geology: their strike-slip faults;
their symmetry. But when driving
an island to see you, the roads open
the earth. And I want to know no other.
While we have you...
...we need your help. Confronting the many challenges of COVID-19—from the medical to the economic, the social to the political—demands all the moral and deliberative clarity we can muster. In Thinking in a Pandemic, we’ve organized the latest arguments from doctors and epidemiologists, philosophers and economists, legal scholars and historians, activists and citizens, as they think not just through this moment but beyond it. While much remains uncertain, Boston Review’s responsibility to public reason is sure. That’s why you’ll never see a paywall or ads. It also means that we rely on you, our readers, for support. If you like what you read here, pledge your contribution to keep it free for everyone by making a tax-deductible donation.
March 26, 2014