I have cancelled my poetry
group: no feedback on work:
writing is in essence
a lonely life.
No readings to make poems
live in others’ minds. No library
to read others’ work. Now I
read what I never wanted to:
books sent for unlikely blurbs.
Toilet paper is rare as hope.
We buy canned, frozen goods
but we’re running out of space.
What will disappear next?
I have cancelled our Pesach
with friends—a lonely seder
with two and probably one
of our cats, who are very
happy we’re stuck here.
I can’t renew my driver’s
license; can’t have lunch
with friends, attend meetings:
in fact there’s aren’t any now
except on ZOOM. House:
a coffin enclosing me.
We were already vanishing
into our phones. This will
complete our transformation
into hermits of technology.
Published with permission of Marge Piercy.
califragile.org 