IN YOUR OWN WORDS WRITING THROUGH HARD TIMES Each month, the Denver VOICE publishes a selection of writing from workshops sponsored by Lighthouse Writers Workshop. The Hard Times Writing Workshop is a collaboration between Denver Public Library and Lighthouse Writers Workshop. This workshop is open to all members of the public—especially those experiencing homelessness. Contact the Lighthouse Writers Workshop for details about virtual Hard Times writing workshops: lighthousewriters.org/workshop/denver-public-library-hard-times The Lighthouse sponsored workshop at The Gathering Place is specifically for that organization’s clients. To check out more writing by the poets featured in this column, go to writedenver.org. MYRA NAGY BED IN TOW HOWARD S. ZAREMBA PAJAMAS ON THE PORCH We roam around Wanting a place to belong Lots of strangers Crowds sing their song. Bag in tow Bed in bag Searching for food Someone provides a tag. Tags are lists Of places to go For food, for showers And faces you know Now you are one With the scattered community Everyone is helpful They rely on unity All share the same name Homeless but in search Looking for a home Somewhere to perch We watch each other’s stuff And share our food It’s a well-oiled community Regardless of the mood We are safe together In large numbers We are all different But do not encumber It is year seven of the pandemic, and a confluence of mutated viruses and unknowable diseases have spread across all national borders creating a global viral soup. The most desperate, suffer from isolation so great, that connection and physical touch are now too distant and suspect. The streets are filled with decaying carcasses of those broken by the endless promise of more plague. Suddenly, a door swings open, and in tattered pajamas and slippers, poor creature, a barely recognizable form, atrophied limbs, a sunless pallid demeanor and hanging wasted flesh, makes its way slowly, painfully to the edge of the, porch. No longer able to recall a pre-plague image of themselves, or grasp a thread of hopeful possibility, they stand and let out a defiant howl, a final remnant of a once “sacred humanity.” They exclaim, to any within earshot, “I was once a human being and I will not descend further into a shadow of digital light, cold touch, garbled chatter and lost communication.” Those last and lost, their proclamation complete, manage a few more steps into the unfamiliar and lifeless streets, before the viral ooze surrounds, penetrates and crushes them, and they crumple into a lifeless heap. And those still behind closed doors, peeking through heavy curtained windows, stare at each other and do not, cannot not come to aid, as they know what fate will hold. PRESENTED BY: September 2020 DENVER VOICE 11
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