by Anita Nahal
as I was doing yoga laying on the carpet in my bedroom i saw my clothes hanging in my open cupboard. they seemed oddly silent. i wondered if I would ever wear any again. to dance? to work? or to the grocery store? or anywhere? tears started to swell up. what happened to the clothes of those who died from Covid19? are they still hanging in their cupboards? still waiting to be worn to work, dinner or theatre? still waiting to wrap their owners’ bodies. what happened to their beds and comforters? are they still waiting to give sleep to their owners? why am I thinking of inanimate objects, I asked myself? why wasn’t I thinking of their loved ones left behind? i suppose the news I read today of their bodies being quickly driven away by “body collectors” in hazmat suits never to be seen by their loved ones again made me cry more for their clothes and bedsheets that their loved ones would never see them in again. Video poem of this in Setu, April 2020 Also, published in The Creative Café, Medium, May 14, 2020
Poet biography:
Anita Nahal is a poet, professor, short story writer, flash fictionist, Children’s books author, D&I consultant and Chair Yoga consultant. Currently she is Adjunct professor at the University of the District of Columbia, Washington DC, USA. For more, please see: https://anitanahal.wixsite.com/anitanahal
Old Water Rat Publishing 