Bring me your tired

The President is telling us that we are tired of the pandemic. Well congratulations, Mr. Obvious. We are. But we are still not willing to die for you and your cruel intentions to ensure the money-grubbers and corporations are able to keep their bottom line above water while the rest of us are with the Dance Band on the Titanic.(That physically hurt to fit there, but I couldn't kill the baby! 😉) Each day another cruelty is revealed. Each day more and more people are dying and healthcare workers have gone from heroes to punching bags because Americans have lost their way. We are sinking into poverty; lives are irrevocably altered and yet many can’t get past the past. What was normal is now as common as a Pteranodon, not here, not coming back. We are tired. We are tired of masks and hand sanitizer and safe distancing and crossing the street when you see a neighbor out walking. We want to hear the children on the playgrounds. We want to have loved ones drive hours to spend time with us; we want go see them! These are the easy things to want. I have a home and healthcare and safety and someone who is, thankfully, still with me (still talking to me). No one here has to get up in the morning and go to job where the people we encounter are sick, hostile, without food or healthcare or a home. Our levels of tiredness are real. Hopefully you have a way to carry and care for yours.

Sigh.

Today on Autumn Sky Poetry Daily  a poem by Greg Watson was posted called Sirens. The lines that really got me were these: 

“We are weary with this
small but constant mourning,
as we are guilty of occasionally
forgetting where these sirens lead,
the story at the other end,
the life unspooling into daylight.”

It’s a beautiful and delicate poem. An “I am paying attention” poem. A poem that was so good to encounter today as I listened to (thank you, President Obama) and thought about what a leader can do. What a leader will need to do as we continue on with the pandemic. It is not going away soon. We’ve been given instructions on how to get out of it, like a mountain range that appears in a fable: stick to the path, follow the rules, don’t listen to the ogres that are telling you lies and half-truths. There is no trick. There is no miracle. There will be more loneliness and hurt. Hold what you can. Carry what you must.

If you need help ask. If can you help, do so.