We live in unprecedented times, but what COVID-19 is exposing is the inherent gendered oppressions that the American capitalist system relies on to continue to maximize productivity above all. Women make up a large portion of the healthcare and teaching workforce. Women are predominantly those that care for the elderly in nursing homes, for children in daycare, for all of it. These same women are now disproportionately bearing the brunt of being on the frontlines, both at home and at work. The fact that domestic violence cases are expected to increase during this time is another piece that just hurts my spirit so much. This piece was inspired by the rage and helplessness I feel right now and where I need to tunnel in order to find some semblance of hope.
A poem for every dying woman holding it together by a half-severed thread ~ By: Sara Rezvi
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I have words but I don’t know where to put them I have silence but don’t know how to stay still
I have rage but only these smoky ruins remain Shall I wrap them softly?
Swaddled in burnt ember?
Somewhere in the crawl space of my heart I keep these words
I keep them quiet, I keep them safe
I fear their lighting
— a burnt match
A pathway winking into existence
To a smoldering anger undying, to worlds that I would end with just one glance
Eternal, unvanquished, immortal
They say to women, find your voice
They say to women, find your dignity
They do not warn you no they do not warn you
What happens when you do ---
the only infinity that exists is this rage
I can no longer remember the name of the dish my mother used to prepare — the sucking up of juices of boiled bones
What else can you call
the dripping of
savory blood
down your chin
Except a kind of feral hope?