The Moya View

Trying to Sing in Italian


The virus news carries me from room to room.

A Verdi aria breaks the solemn

chant of the rising death tolls in my brain

as Italians sing to the sick below,

voice to voice forming a single line of hope,

that filters down to the lonely windows,

my electric screen, all the world’s tablets.

The music spreads over the mournful lulls,

penetrates through the hemagglutinin,

nucleoproteins singed by joyous noise.

The alarms of Corollas join the chorus,

even the rain ululates with applause.

The gift of every note dotes on the glass.

The ventilated sick duet with their eyes,

pale hands conducting the voices above.

The voices background the daily briefing,

the drone of Trump, and the doctors after him.

I switch to another song, more mellow-

Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, something

in the same tempo, in unison, that allows

my small cautious soul to match their big notes.





One response to “Trying to Sing in Italian”

  1. Caroline Shank Avatar
    Caroline Shank

    The rain ullulates is inspired. I think I spelled that wrong. The poem captures everything about our misery with the virus. Great job

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