What role did poets have during the plague? Did we huddle inside our modest huts, our walls lined with witching and healing herbs and stolen leather-bound books? Did we place the doctor’s plague mask on our faces and scratch our quills against parchment (which was ever so dear then, no one had invented the Moleskine) and try to express the beauty we saw in the rot? The rich charcoal plumes of smoke from quarantined chimneys dissipate into robins egg blue skies, and the ash coats bird’s-nests and mud and clothes and we wrote it all down for the new ones to read.


2 thoughts on “Plague

  1. It makes me want to dive feet first into researching the period – not sure why I was thinking about such a dark time today. I think, mainly, I was ruminating why poets and novelists and other assorted literary folks are discouraged and revered almost simultaneously. How society lifts up those who have success already but frown on those who are actively carving out their art and working their tails off in their own right?

"... all my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures."

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