by Sarah Lang
T., as a kid I used to talk to myself on my way to school. / Writing this book has me doing this again. / You’re making me myself again.
I know, darling, / I could wake up every day at 7 and have a shower and put my hair up and go for a run. / That is never going to be your Mum.
I’m annoying. / I kiss you over and over / because you are a miracle, Tamara / forgive me.
You know I’m telling you all this / for when (not if) / I die. You’re going to have to keep on / and if your Dad gets here / slap him for me.
Should I be telling you about Cinderella or The Little Mermaid / or should I be writing new fairy-tales. / I wish you could tell me.
Mum’s tired of explaining everything she can think of. / She misses home, Dad, / and for this not to be her job. / She wants a day off.
There are other ways to test for and treat / infection. / Smell, infections smell. / All kinds of smells. / Cut it out. / Dress it up clean.
Okay, I’m taking T. out to look at the moon. / You magically are looking up at it too, okay? / She’d like that. / As would I.
Learning how to say “no” is one of the hardest and most important things you can learn.
Your Mum is real good at reading people, / even in their sleep & dreams. / I do not wish this on you; / you should have a say.
Do you like your hand? / The rest of your arm? I am way too tired to do an amputation today. / Do you think that blood infection can wait? / My Darling Dearest, My Beautiful Idiot: know I will never, ever forget you. / Darling I am very, very tired. / Even if your Dad were here. / Simply too much work. / I need to sleep.
Tamara, suicides will not be uncommon. / I do not want you to think of them as irrational. / Try and help / but these people have lost everything they’ve got. / n times over.
I haven’t written enough about how to protect yourself. / Don’t scream. / Take a breath. / Jam a screwdriver in his eye.
I know after 9 years I’m supposed to be over you. / Sadly no one can compete. / Plus Tamara still wants to meet you.
I want to be able to reach my hand out / and have you hold it. / I know. / Not my biggest concern. / I would just like it.
Even when you were here, you would leave me scraps of paper with a note before you left for work. / I still have those. / Leave another.
T., ppl are going to remember and develop rituals. / Let them. / Yourself. / Just don’t let them into the gov’t. / Respect, but have law for all.
You know I would move the moon for you. / Although that would screw with orbit, tides, etc. / So at least a moon rock, / My Beautiful Idiot.
T., I’m sleeping in your bed tonight. / As much as I protect you / you make me able to.
Ok, teams: pharmacy; hs lab; latrine; water; food; fortification. Go.
He’s my husband: he’ll be fine. He married me. I think he can deal with this.
I have this life of extraordinary memories. It could be far, far worse. I’d like to think you can hear me. / That we are looking at the same moon. / All that romantic crap. / But I just want you to send us a message, ok?
I end up sleeping on the sofa. / I have all these beds / but when I turn around / you aren’t there. / No one is.
When I’m not wearing my wedding ring / for work, whatever. / It is because I still love my husband. / That does mean I don’t care for you / but that I do still very much love my husband. / And yes, you may think that foolish / but I know that man and he is very much alive.
Climb up / past the treeline / as high as is safe. / Survey the land. / We could do with a map.
Shut up. / I don’t care. / See this girl here? / Yeah, I have to teach her to survive. / So hush.
T., when you are really thinking of someone you miss / run the back of your thumb from the centre of your temple to the bridge of your nose. / No, it won’t bring them back. / It is just what we do.
I hold you like a child. / But you can’t be one anymore, T.
Smell is an excellent way to determine the type of infection you’re dealing with. / Have the patient lick the inside of his/her wrist. Smell that.
Darling, sometimes there are simple questions about who you should be with. / Brush my hair?
T., I know you’re going to want someone to take care of you. / But this is it, Darling. / Rest up. / You can do this.
Always repeat an order. / This is like a ship. / We can’t lose anyone / and every order has to be understood.
I’m lonely as fucking shit all. / Is that what you want to hear? / And with all that tech you can’t use a shortwave to even tell me you’re alive? / I know you are working very hard to fix things. / But that doesn’t negate the fact I’m stuck here / trying to remake everything / do surgeries I can barely do / on a good day. / And that the end of that day / I want you there. / Sue me for being selfish.
Headaches: check: 1–10: worst ever; like thunder; new after 40; anything getting worse; numb, weak, vision, tingling; stiffness of the neck.
No wax goes unused. / We are going to heat that together and make new candles. / Understood?
Always keep a fire going. / Cut it or learn to tie, braid whatever your hair back.
When skin is pinched and doesn’t bounce back: get that person water. / There are other signs, from cramps to dry mouth. / But get water, now.
There were festivals where people would gather to watch a cherry tree bloom. / I don’t even know where to find one. / Even before this I was working on new traditions. / I believed in only a few of what were called “holidays.” / Birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Hallowe’en. / That doesn’t mean I don’t miss some things. / Smell of a tree in your house. / Never St. Pat’s in Penn Station. / Now we get to make new ones.
The sun rises / and I think “why another day?” / Can we keep doing this? / Is it too much to ask for respite?
Because that’s why I loved you: I could talk to you. / So yes, this potted plant isn’t quite the same.
I could speak in any dialect of English, and even a couple other languages. / Your French sucked, but no matter. / I never had to explain myself to you.
I can write you this book because I’ve never seen time as linear. / I get it, / but I don’t get why I can revisit any time I want: / I give you this.
See the little lines coming of that wound? That is a blood infection, sepsis. / We have the choice of antibiotics or cutting off that limb.
People don’t much change. / Even with all this. / Love them as they are.
Sometimes I’ll see a torn image of somewhere we were / and I remember it completely. / And I know it is gone. / And I can’t even tell you.
Not with a concussion, Darling. / Trust me twice.
Drowning is like a head injury, you can slowly die a day later. / Constantly check on those patients.
Darling, that girl is ODing. / We don’t have charcoal, so let’s think of other ways to get that stuff up. / Her airways need to be clear.
I wish I could just sync our brains, / and give you everything in mine. / Then again if humans could do that / we wouldn’t be so human.
Darling, when saving someone in the water / the time it takes to take off (most of) your clothing / will save you more time in the water.
We have an outbreak. / It does not seem to be airborne. / So everyone gets extra water to heat (for three hours), / to wash hands. / If anyone has bleach, / now is the time to share. / We have to identify and quarantine at this point. / We’ve got this far, / let’s keep going. / And we are tired.
Currently, I’m too tired to talk to you about this. / But yes, while I know you need to be a “normal” kid, / “normal” means something else now. / I need to sleep. / You have to understand that, / and for the record you do too. / Just let’s make it through tomorrow.
Everything isn’t going to be fine. / As much as I’d love to tell you otherwise, / it ain’t. / And you have to learn that soon
er rather than later.
You see those dark lines on your arm? / You are septic: / your blood is infected. / We have to make a choice: antibiotics or your arm.
I never believed in guns — nor did your grandmother — so no, I have no idea how to put that thing together.
The smell of a Mayday tree. / Tea roses. / Me.
I wanted a supply list of meds and weapons.
I remember saying goodbye to your Dad. We both knew his work was more important than us. Bigger than us.
Dad is working on helping us all. / I promise. / Right now, eat those carrots I grew.
Hot soap and water is key. / Bathe. / Wash the dishes, cutlery.
Postal System: an infrastructure designed to send and deliver physical materials, like letters, from sender to recipient.
The explosions were brilliant, blinding. / Then clouds. / We’ll never know.
Author photograph: courtesy of the author
Sarah Lang was born in Canada. She completed an MFA at Brown University. Her debut poetry collection is The Work of Days.
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