If God Is a Virus
Seema Yasmin
- 80 pages
- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
If God Is a Virus
Seema Yasmin
About This Book
Based on original reporting from West Africa and the United States, and the poet 's experiences as a doctor and journalist, If God Is A Virus charts the course of the largest and deadliest Ebola epidemic in history, telling the stories of Ebola survivors, outbreak responders, journalists and the virus itself. Documentary poems explore which human lives are valued, how editorial decisions are weighed, what role the aid industrial complex plays in crises, and how medical myths and rumor can travel faster than microbes. These poems also give voice to the virus. Eight percent of the human genome is inherited from viruses and the human placenta would not exist without a gene descended from a virus. If God Is A Virus reimagines viruses as givers of life and even authors of a viral-human self-help book.
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A rumor we buried daddy in an unmarked
grave. History. Pathogens criss-crossing agar
-plated petri dishes like rebel soldiers breaching
trenches. This story: that we had it coming,
that we are good only for uncivil wars and dis
-eases. That we prayed for colonization. Blood.
Microbes escaping test tubes conquering
lab countertops slower than hearsay, she say
we burned Daddyâs corpse like bad Muslims;
like White (coated) doctors instructed. What else
is contagious: doctored death certificates. Half
-truths. Cursive. Ink. They say there is no cure
then there is a cure only for them. So. What
else spreads: knots of grief twisting bowels
into distended loops of fermenting torment. No
days of mourning. Two years of outside
intervention. Armies. Conviction. Belief that
this will spread & spread. That all contagions
wax endemic. This one will never end.
Absolutely done
with your shit.
God wants to know
why you didnât get a flu
shot; why her minions
made your left lung collapse
white out on the X-ray,
rack up a six-figure ICU
bill when all they wanted
was a warm vacation,
tropical waters, champagne
plasma to sipânot to bring
about deathânot to turn
prunes in pleural fluid. No
body wants that. God thinks
anti-vaxxers have a death wish.
Wonders how they eat organic,
snort coke and laundry detergent
on weekends. Donât
they know yogi detox tea
is hepatotoxic? God knew
Charles Darwin. Clever
woman, she said. Who would
want your lot extinct?
who set up camp & cooked food. Smell
as leavened bread. They did not share,
gifts. Expired medicines, peanut butter
mosquitoes to sex in. Teenaged
priming black roads for a microscopic
named for men who do not know how to break
sing: Bless this food. God bless the seasonings!
spits morsels to feed babies who cannot masticate. Pray
like target practice.
for unsharing. And if they do
they bring even less.
English. If our nurses are sent to help and
return with trinkets, tans, and meningitis.
Black people must die to equal one White
manâs death. Forty-three if the outbreak
hemorrhage, a former colony, or biblical
references. Subtract one dozen if our boys
nine if babies are disintegrating in shallow
gravesâbut restrict to twelve inches
licked off fingers inked with destitution.
Buttercream pancakes stick in the throat
Follow the story with one reporter who
knows nothing of PPE, shrouds, and
âuse two underpaid local fixers if dead
-lines (for awards) are approaching.
eating expired medicines smeared in peanut
butter aid. Say, it is a gift from the American
Rusty spaghetti loops unfurl from nascent amper
where papaâs head is cradled, cooing as she rocks
onto Mamaâs good yellow dress.
undammed capillaries forked and oozing
when Uncle hoisted boys onto sinking vessels.
bone & salt, sells them to the neighbor for malaria tinctures
with old medicine.
Crying into her chest she will push her children out
Stoke a bonfire; feed the flames with baby
Bent spines straightening in the flames.
turns zamzam water that she sips to lose count:
cremated on unholy pyres (without ablution).
our cinders. She says: They dust our dead away.
wraps braided rope across posts, says movement
is dead. The country is closed to the outside while a virus breaches skin and mucous membranes;
a visitor crosses intracellular spaces left unguarded.