By Justin Karcher
Snow in April and I can hear a group of people
arguing outside about what disinfectant
goes down the smoothest, I sneak a peek
through the blinds but they’re already gone
clumps of ultraviolet light that disappear
when the wind rises, when we’re all cast adrift
in a boat with nowhere to go, royals on high
flinging us into the unknown where we feel so alone
when I think about anxiety, I think about my friends
turning into dolphins, because dolphins sleep
with only one side of their brain, so that they can use
the other side to watch out for predators, these are weird times
but not impossible, an ocean of doorknobs that can be navigated
if we think outside the box, if we become reacquainted
with magic, the antidote to all this distancing and separation
energy doesn’t die, it just finds new ways to connect
like how it’s a Saturday night in Western New York
and we’re watching The Tempest live online, collaboratively
produced by two theatre companies across the Atlantic
and it’s hard not to imagine monologues as schools of fish
that come up out of our hearts and swim against the current
no matter what happens, mischievous but puckish Ariel
performing spells from the safety of their apartment
then ventilators suddenly start appearing in overcrowded hospitals
all across the globe freedom means taking care of people
who can’t take care of themselves, it means convincing
the downtrodden that they are not monsters, that they are
islands coming together as one, like plate tectonics but faster
the singsong fury of Caliban desperate for greener pastures
where there are still cloud-capped towers, gorgeous palaces
and solemn temples, somewhere a little better, because we won’t
dissolve like insubstantial dreams, no, we’ll get through this
I think about such things as I watch The Tempest on Zoom
actors speaking from their homes and no feeling
of impending doom, Prospero throwing one hell of a party
everybody dancing when the curtain falls, an exercise
in the new normal, how not to dig your own grave
how to be brave despite the news, how to create art
that stills feel like a kiss but without the touch
call it growth, how we evolve, how our wires
can still cross as we deal with all this loss