Silence broken by the one-note symphony of cicadas singing from trees.
But there’s a soloist whose song rises above the rest— an urgent fifth – F to B flat
Waaay-oh,
repeating at steady intervals.
Is this the lucky cicada who found his mate?
The world will never know.
In the end, the entire brood will mate, lay eggs, and die,
leaving their exoskeleton carcasses and their soft, red-eyed bodies to rot on sidewalks and cars, in grass.
Their progeny will rise up singing in another 17 years.
Jackie Oldham is a writer from Baltimore, Maryland. She has read her work at local venues, for the Quintessential Listening: Poetry podcast (2019, 2020, and upcoming on February 10, 2021), and for the Black Poets Matter series, presented by Mad Mouth Poetry. Her essays have appeared as Editorials and Letters in the Baltimore Sun newspaper. Her first short story, “Age-isms,” was published in midnight & indigo, an online and print literary journal featuring Black Women writers. Three of her poems have been published: “Golem Emet” and “I Don’t Want to Play The ‘Capitol’ of Edition of Clue™” in Oddball Magazine and “Just Another Covid-19 Saturday” in Global Poemic. Sabiyha Prince is an anthropologist, artist, and author based in Washington, DC. Her books and essays explore urban change and African American culture, and her paintings and photo collages grapple with memory, identity, kinship and inequality.
Monday morning, Cold and steel gray, The old lady drove to the convenience store With steely confidence For milk and bread To start her day.
She strode into the store, Gathered her items, And placed them on the counter.
The counter lady asked “Where your mask, sweetie?” The old lady cried out, high-pitch laughing,
“Oh My God! I left it in the car!”
And slapped her left palm over Her mouth and nose, While inserting her debit card To pay for her sundries.
Taking the shopping bags, Left hand still serving as her mask, She elbowed open the convenience store door, Got back in her car, And drove home, chagrined (but still laughing)— Wondering how she could have forgotten The damned mask.
Jackie Oldham is a writer from Baltimore, Maryland. She has read her work at local venues, for the Quintessential Listening: Poetry podcast (2019, 2020, and upcoming on February 10, 2021), and for the Black Poets Matter series, presented by Mad Mouth Poetry. Her essays have appeared as Editorials and Letters in the Baltimore Sun newspaper. Her first short story, “Age-isms,” was published in midnight & indigo, an online and print literary journal featuring Black Women writers. Three of her poems have been published: “Golem Emet” and “I Don’t Want to Play The ‘Capitol’ of Edition of Clue™” in Oddball Magazine and “Just Another Covid-19 Saturday” in Global Poemic. Sabiyha Prince is an anthropologist, artist, and author based in Washington, DC. Her books and essays explore urban change and African American culture, and her paintings and photo collages grapple with memory, identity, kinship and inequality.
Dark rain falls. Drops spray on the roof, the windows, the ground, the grass, the trees.
Not a hard rain This time, But a mist In a shroud of fog.
Will the wetness refresh the world beyond my door?
Will this shower lull me to sleep?
The air is warm and moist, the heat turned off. My brow is wet with sweat.
I get up. Take my temperature. No fever. Yet, a heat rises, Spreading Inside my forehead, which, nevertheless, is cool to the touch but not clammy.
Before the rain disrupted my train of thought, I was making my peace with Death Considered writing an epitaph:
“Having lived much longer than her premature birth had suggested— 9.42 times The mythical 7-year cycles of life projected— she was now prepared to leave this world, if God so willed.”
Not to save the Economy, But to go to her Rest in Peace, Feeling Blessed.
II. The Silent Hours (Or, How I Remembered the Day), 3:38 PM
In my home, where I have lived alone for 26 years, I keep Silent Hours, to hold the world at bay.
Beyond these walls and windows, only rare noises break in.
The stray wail of a dog.
A car engine revving as a neighbor drives through the block.
A car door slamming as the neighbor returns home.
Birdsong does not penetrate. At least, not during the day. Except for the coo, at dawn, of a mourning dove whose nest was once my side porch light.
And only in the darkest hours might a hoot owl’s call pierce the night.
But these sounds of life are not the ones that disturb me.
Rather, it’s the toxic noise of the tv that threatens to destroy me.
Within these walls, the only sounds welcomed are the metronome of the clock, the click of the gas-fueled pump that sends now-needed heat through the radiators, the periodic hum of the refrigerator.
Not even the shrill bell of the telephone sounds today. Telemarketers and scammers alike are at rest.
III. How This Day Really Progressed (Fire and Rain)
Before 9 AM, I was wrested from deep sleep by loud rolling thunder, followed by the wails of fire trucks nearby. For a minute or two, I even smelled smoke through the closed windows.
Soon, I was on my phone, searching Facebook for the latest news and misinformation.
A neighborhood group was reporting a fire, just three streets over from my home.
There were no reports of injuries or the extent of property damage.
I hadn’t imagined the smoke.
Scrolling along, I came upon reports of another fire in my quadrant of the city.
Dramatic photos of a church steeple ablaze, with commentary from members and neighbors nearby:
A historic Baltimore Catholic Church (on the National Historic Registry) had been struck by lightning, and the top of the steeple— a large metal cross— had fallen headlong to the ground!
Captured in flight by our sole newspaper, this improbable feat was shared ten times over on Facebook newsfeeds.
Witnesses confirmed that building remained intact, as the pastor of the now-Pentecostal congregation
vowed to rebuild and thanked God that its usual Saturday-morning meeting had been canceled.
Thus, many lives were saved By Covid-19.
Jackie Oldham is a writer from Baltimore, Maryland. Her poetry and essays appear mainly on her blog, baltimoreblackwoman. These writings have led to invitations to read her work at local venues [Ikaros Restaurant, Baltimore, MD (2018 and 2019)], for the Quintessential Listening: Poetry podcast (2019 and 2020), and the Black Poets Matter series, presented by Mad Mouth Poetry (available on Facebook). Her essays have appeared as Editorials and Letters in the Baltimore Sun newspaper. Her first short story, “Age-isms,” was published in midnight & indigo, a journal featuring Black Women writers. She is retired from a career as a production copy editor and trainer for a firm (originally Waverly Press) that specializes in printing and publishing scientific and medical journals and books. Sabiyha Prince is an anthropologist, artist, and author based in Washington, DC. Her books and essays explore urban change and African American culture, and her paintings and photo collages grapple with memory, identity, kinship and inequality.
Global Poemic 