How long would it take to read aloud the
names of our dead? To compile them? Learn
how to pronounce them. Find meaningful
order. And when would we begin–this plague
will not come to a negotiated
conclusion. And though we use the rhetoric
of wartime, those who’ve fallen are not all
heroes. So perhaps next year, on this day,
instead of bunting we’ll string prayer flags
from chimneys and treetops, stretched to lamp posts,
garden gates and fences, listen to the
each name a prayer, a mantra for hope
sent spiralling on into infinity.
I’m writing a series of “Corona Sonnets”. This is the second of two written after VE Day.