The Great Demarcation

In the time of this terrible pandemic

one born to earth by a virus bearing a hateful "crown"......

I have wept for the sick and the dying, for those separated by thick plastic and protocol, for those who missed a life milestone, be it a graduation walk or a cheek to cheek dance at a senior homecoming or holding the hand of a loved one slipping away to death's final touch.

But the ones I weep for the most now are the children of the pandemic. The ones born after borders closed, flights stilled, and we, citizens of the world, were silenced. Our roads empty, our parks barren, our sidewalks stilled in a chill felt in the marrow. 

I weep for the pandemic children because "we" will forever be a "we" and "they" will forever be a "them" and nothing will ever bridge this gap that runs as cold and deep as a raging mountain river.

I call this "The Great Demarcation."

Those born before the pandemic will have some unity of memory, a common frame of reference, a shared experience.

Those born during the pandemic will never share these moments, these brief recollections; these experiences of the time before.

Whether the years after the pandemic will prove better or worse, or a mixture of both, the children of the pandemic will know only one thing: 

That "this" is how the world is, and to them, it will feel like it has been this way forever.

We will all stand on opposite sides of the raging river, The Great Demarcation, and have the barest understanding of what each other feels or why one group will forever endure the pain of memory “before” while the other group runs free and unburdened in a place where memory does not burn or bury us under a thousand "what ifs" and "I remember when."

We can only go forth with love, forgiveness, and undiluted truth for we must do everything possible to ensure that there will never again be a "once in a century pandemic." 

It is the very least we can do for one another in the winding path of recovery that stretches far before us and into the celestial blue horizon.

This poem is dedicated to my grandnephew Westley, a true child of the pandemic.

I'm sorry for the terrible mess of a dying world that we, your forebears, are leaving you, your brother, and your cousins. 

I hope one day you will find it in your heart to forgive us for we often truly didn't know what it was we were doing.

But at least you were born into a large family who loves you and welcomed you with open arms, despite a raging pandemic.

May my name be lost to the time and tide of history. But may these words live on as part of our collective story as human beings, and as part of your family story.

I write this on the eve of another full lockdown in one of Asia's greatest cities of the 21st century, thousands of kilometers away from you, never once having held you or seen you. These facts are immutable. 

My first lockdown was pure fear.  

This one, nothing but tired resignation. Perhaps I will survive and perhaps not. It doesn’t matter so long as the words survive. The story must always survive!

If you can remember nothing else dear grandnephew, remember this:

We are all together here. *Still*. Family is forever.

Be calm and be at peace.

Strive to be better than those of us who came before.