we were twenty one then and i don’t care what anyone says, we were just kids, we were just barely at the cusp of inheriting our parents’ world. it was april and a month into the plague year and you grabbed onto me like i was the last lifeline to exist out there in the ocean. i mumbled words i couldn’t even say to myself and your sobs tore bullet holes into my shoulder. distantly i wondered if this might be the last time we saw you breathing. it had nothing to do with the fucking virus.
years later i am wondering if any of us really survived it.
Lauren Arienzale is a doctoral student in clinical psychology, former organic farmer, and poet. She is the author of the poetry collection, “Mud Pie.” Lauren’s work has appeared in Scapegoat Review, The Closed Eye Open, A Plate of Pandemic, and Assignment Literary Magazine. laurenarienzale.com
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