Lockdown
Someone recently said to me that it's only a matter of time before the necessary higher-ups in China hear the hard truth that COVID-zero is over. Maybe people in Shanghai just need to be louder?
Lockdown
Shanghai, Summer 2022
As soon as it was over
we emptied into the streets,
tree-lined and otherwise,
to Lawson’s and that Italian
eatery with Spritz. We
sought mistakes to make
to shock ourselves into living,
asked strangers the size
of their cage, what they thought
of that song, which foods
they craved; we flirted this way
because it was good to see
the shape lips make, forget
the anger on our tongues. We spotted
a storefront advertising 48-hour delivery
and smirked, It’ll take seven days.
We toasted to ourselves and our
lives, knowing how conditional
living had become. All our noise,
our flaunting, our laughter
must have felt like a taunt.
Within days, weeks, we were back
in our cages, which felt smaller.
We punched rants into devices
like sending bottles to sea. Who was it
we danced with on that sticky
summer night? When briefly
we felt phosphorescent. Now
we are in a jar, flapping
where no one can hear.
Louder, then. Pans, metals,
anything to tell the world
we’re fucking here.
“Don’t Drink the Celebratory Toast” (video with lyrics via China Digital Times)
