Quarantine love poem – nyskriven dikt av Nino Mick
Av: Olav Fumarola Unsgaard
I vårt samarbetsprojekt med sydafrikanska Hear my Voice och Svenska ambassaden i Pretoria bad vi poeten Nino Mick skriva en dikt. Stort tack till Nino för att vi får publicera den.
Quarantine Love Poem
Av Nino Mick
For the first time
your kids go to school by themselves
such a big day, a shame not to be there to see it.
If you could see it, they say, we would not be going to school by ourselves
and there would be nothing to see.
From your morning window
a river of children
carrying their rucksacks into the new born spring
many of them alone
for the first time
another 24 hours inside.
What about next door
just the other side of this wall
did the wife loose her job?
Did the husband loose his?
Is it just me or does their fighting sound harsher these days?
The work it takes to keep us alive
the bags of food left outside the door
the phone calls that keep us sane
the books that gives us the world again
a monster chases you
and you bury yourself alive to escape it.
From this dream you wake
gasping for air
at night I start to count your breaths
wishing it was romantic.
I want to be with you all the time!
We discover that this is untrue.
Here is a list of all other people we want to be with:
My gran, our moms, my dad, their dogs
your sisters, their kids, my ex, your flirt, my lover, our writing group,
my siblings, my flatmate, my best friend, my best friend’s new born baby,
my coworkers, some poets, the neighbours, some more expartners,
our anarchist friends, our communist friends,
strangers on the street, strangers at the store, strangers at a party,
just anyone, anything, outside the apartment door,
But the symtoms hear no pleas
my throat ache have no ease
your lungs will not satify your hunger for oxygen
there’s not enough space
did these two rooms and kitchen shrink?
The kids get home from school
it’s time to pay the bills.
The monthly rent is very high
for this small a jail
we hang a yellow towel from the window
may day is cancelled.
If we were striking the economy to it’s knees
at least we could throw some big parties
dancing down the street feeling powerful
like we powered the world, ’cause we are;
The virus is no strike but unveils the same truth
that my life is dependent on the work that y’all do
and if that’s not true –
if we don’t spend our days reproducing the vital conditions of life on this planet –
maybe we should quit our jobs and train to be nurses.
Maybe we should read some books on love.
Maybe we should count the breaths
of the rainforest trees while they’re still left
this hunger for air that we all have in common
I run into the bathroom
but you’re not suffocating
just laughing at funny dogs on instagram.
Again we end up fighting.
You’re struggling to remind yourself
that I am not that abuser
who you spent your days with
all those years ago.
Since then the traumas are in lockdown in your brain, your body
you tell me this isolation feels the same way
constantly hindered to meet your friends
your sister comes by
parking her car on the street by the window
the kids throw down toys to their cousins
you keep yelling that you love her.
I keep thinking,
it takes a village for you to love me.
Each day a new press conference, an updated death toll.
Why were we not prepared?
Who is responsible?
Imagine the future accusing the past.
Imagine the future accusing the past
of killing their loved ones.
Outside your window that future is walking to school
by themselves for the first time.
Is this crisis stopping the oil drills
as it’s keeping the planes on the ground?
Someone forced to still check tickets on the train gets spat in the face
while her bosses work from home.
Someone holding a phone with skype instead of their dying mother’s hand.
One of the kids fall from a tree house.
The nurse outside the emergency looks like a spaceman
tired from exploring the galaxies
but her work is more important
than some far away asteroid belt
you go in through a special entrance
a small concussion, it should be fine.
Sea birds nesting on the roof.
I keep thinking,
it takes a village for me to love you.
It takes a village for you to love me
Sandgren & Johansson – Samlade verk möter Litteraturens slut
Göteborg vill bli en UNESCO city of literature
”Who should I spend time with these days”
Stefan Zweig i ord och ton
En mångspråkig värld