January 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012
1 Min read time
Lately I am more aware of how easily
you might lope carelessly off into a fog
of never and gray, and so when you come
in the morning with your pincers on,
when you wake me with your snorts
and hacks, when you lie down next to me
with your scales poking all my soft places,
I hold you to me. The bruises will heal,
and it isn’t your fault you’re so spiny.
Day, you lower your monstrous head
and let me pat it. You are gleaming
and everything. You are genus unknown,
phylum unnamed. You glint and lumber,
you drool and growl. Soon, maybe,
you’ll let me climb on your back. Soon,
maybe, we’ll bullet together into forests
and glades and gladness. So stay. Walk
beside me with your armor on, breathe
flames at the beasts that bite. If I get singed,
it’s okay. I’d pay levy upon levy
for your glittering shadow beside me.
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.
January 01, 2012
1 Min read time