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Issue 1 Poetry

Hang On To Humanity

In 

my room 

until inculcated echoes

memories 

of self-care elixirs

unbottled

assuring depression excision 

via exercise goad me

finally

out

to 

roads 

where I run by others 

humans

at least 6 feet apart

and we make space

for each other 

with 

smiling faces

and it 

is good for the most part

but 

what 

happened

to that man

urgent 

who sprung from the bus stop bench

asking 

to use my phone 

for 

an emergency 

for 

whom

I did not make space 

in my heart

whose 

unsmiling face 

haunts my virus-beleaguered ethical conscience

tortured

alongside the woman 

dressed in a patient gown

whose electric wheelchair

I pushed to the corner store

up the sidewalk incline 

on which she was stuck

as I breathed 

with certain respiratory difficulty

and exhaled 

uncertain respiratory droplets. 

In 

my room

or on 

a run

it is not easy being

a human being

under 

These Circumstances

— 

perhaps 

it never was.