During coronavirus, hurt appears to be silent.
Yet it dominates. It tries to define us, even becomes
the way we determine whether or not we are afflicted.
There is a woeful call for clarity.

In addition to heat, which radiates all over our bodies,
we sense pain inside our souls. I recall hearing news
of my beloved grandmother’s death—43 years ago
in the time of the HIV plague.

When I was notified, I felt a knife stabbing my heart,
my lungs. It was dull and intractable. The hurt never
abated. Every time hurt signaled I would never see
her again. The grief stayed in my heart,

In my lungs, eventually seemed to leave me, but returns
often without notice. In this era, hurt is quiet in the
realm of humans for the most part. My throat is
scratchy now. It hurts to swallow.

Frogs are croaking their throats out right beside
our window, seemingly unaware of the endless
suffering all around. When Aunt Mary had been
diagnosed with ovarian cancer—

Her condition was treated with a year and a half of
chemotherapy. She hurt everywhere. In those days,
they gave you enough poison to kill a horse, not a
chicken as they do nowadays.

Her entire body was on fire. I sat rocking our youngest,
watching the wind whip through the acacias. I was
angry that they did not stop dancing to acknowledge
her hurt as she descended into death.

I reeled from the yellow pollen in the flowers of the
acacia. It made it hard for me to breathe, to nurse
our baby. My eyes flinched from itching and crying.
Forty years later, the hurt has dispersed.

There is so much of it. We are cowering in our homes,
attempting to wait it out, but the pain of being human
follows us inside. Outside animals are seemingly not
hurting. Red-breasted robins pulp long fat worms

From the moist ground. The hummingbirds battle
over pollen in the blossoms of lavender, sage, and
rosemary. We witness ravens and crows rejoice
in the freedom of the land without the humans.

Even that hurts as we see this. We have so much pain.
Our jaws hurt from clenching as we consider the
unnecessary nature of what ails us. Eyebrows hurt
as we imagine the inevitable arrival of the droplets.

We are unaware as they escape from our human
mouths, sneezes, coughs, even breaths that rain down
hurt on others. Our hands and fingers and thumbs hurt
too as we withhold writing, painting, cooking to absorb
just how monumental coronavirus is. To experience it
is to hurt. To deny it is to hurt. To hate it is to hurt.

There is no way around this pain. Those who will live
will hurt. Those who are dying will hurt. Those who are
with the dying will hurt. Those who incinerate and who
bury the dead will hurt. Those who are not with the
dying will hurt. Those who will not attend services for
the dead will hurt.

So we can no longer escape what we have done. Our
only companions are compassion and love and they
are not an escape either for hurt or loss. I worried I
might have contracted Covid-19

From the interloper entering our home unbidden.
Imagining I might have absorbed lethal droplets as
he tried to tell me delusional things. I have felt sharp
pains like sticks in my legs

As I tried to enter the mercy of sleep, hurting
while napping on my side. Pain wandered up
into my leg. To rest on my back was a refuge.
To breathe deeply was a comfort.

To exhale was a hurtful dream where my breath has
escaped me. My heart hurts as it pounds. How can
humans feel so alone? It hurts thinking of connections
with farm workers, truck drivers,

Warehouse personnel, grocery clerks, ambulance
drivers, ER workers, nurses, doctors. They hurt too
along with the sick ones. Body and soul. No longer
is there room for distraction. Hurt happens seemingly

Without cease. The air is full of what brings us pain.
We are alone and together. What will bring us rest?
Where will we find peace?