“Writing the Apocalypse” is a weekly series featuring the poems, essays, and recollections of Puma Perl, with subject matter influenced by her experiences as a NYC resident during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Outbursts, Real and Imaginary| By Puma Perl

Several times this past week,

I burst into tears.

It feels more like sneezing

than crying.

Brief, explosive,

combustive reactions.

 

My desk chair is wet.

I stare at the television.

 

Sometimes,

I’m triggered

by the sounds

of sirens

and helicopters

overhead,

protesters marching

down the FDR

right below my window,

simultaneous actions

at Barclay and Union Square,

a standoff on

the Manhattan Bridge

continuing past

arbitrary curfews,

Terrence Floyd’s

bowed head

while the crowd chants,

You are not alone,

You are not alone.

 

Reality hits

in sound bites.

 

Other times,

it’s like bad television.

I hate myself

when I cry

at feel-sad movies,

cringe at the memory

of late night

1980’s commercials,

AT & T reaching out

to touch someone,

Brian’s Song,

This is Us,

Beaches.

A cop hugging

a protester,

more cops

on bended knee.

 

The emptiness

of orchestrated emotions,

manipulation

aimed at sticking

to the status quo

while claiming belief

that things must change.

There’s no resolution

without revolution.

There’s no revolution

without rebellion.

Broken glass

shatters the streets,

broken bones

shattered history,

poverty and rage

wear Nikes,

and a Bronx block

burns,

while videos

of Soho designer stores

play continuously

on reels, inserted

into our minds.

 

I’ll remain unmoved

by cops

on bended knee

until the day

they get up and fight

on the peoples’ side.

It’s easy

to figure out

what’s right these days.

Change is coming

and not everyone

changes with it.

My years

of running the streets

have passed.

If they hadn’t,

I’d have no time

for tears;

it doesn’t matter

where I’ve been,

only where

we are going.

 

Remember the basics,

I silently say to young girls

in shorts and flip-flops,

carrying signs.

Wear shoes you can run in.

Tie your hair back.

Dress like you’re getting

on a Harley,

no matter the season.

But they will learn

on their own,

and nobody’s asking.

They say milk

helps with tear gas.

We used goggles

and gas masks.

There were no cell phones,

not even beepers.

I hear you should

set them to airplane mode

so you can’t be traced

or leave them home if you can,

but I don’t really know,

I’m only watching

and hoping and really,

I’m not crying.

 

It’s just the chair

that feels a little wet.

 

© puma perl, 06/10/2020

Puma Perl is a poet and writer, with five solo collections in print. The most recent is Birthdays Before and After (Beyond Baroque Books, 2019.) She is the producer/creator of Puma’s Pandemonium, which brings spoken word together with rock and roll, and she performs regularly with her band Puma Perl and Friends. She’s received three New York Press Association awards in recognition of her journalism, and is the recipient of the 2016 Acker Award in the category of writing. Her most recent books can be found by clicking here.

 

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