Poetry by Amy Uyematsu
Lunes During This Pandemic
Cloudless blue sky
with no evidence of virus —
a beguiling view
A senior checklist —
mask, gloves, glasses, wipes for
everything you touch
Are you okay?
we ask over and over
unable to hug
A heartless leader
and legions of nameless heroes
define this tragedy
Rice every night —
a bowl of white delight
pandemic comfort food
Butter and flour
paper napkins and disinfectant wipes
emptied grocery shelves
Photos of America —
the long 1930s food lines
resurging in 2020
A poet's comfort —
to grow something brand new
with mere words
No longer young
I still lean toward beauty —
rain-swept skies
Grief is boundless
though we still go on
our love's journey
The days blur
I've written you final letters
just in case
We cannot choose
the end of this story —
give thanks anyway
Bright orange poppies
cascades of lavender-blue wisteria
this undeniable spring
Note: A “lune” (also known as American haiku) is a three-line poem consisting of 3/5/3 words in each line.
Art Information
- “Alaskan Memories” and “Flower Shavings” © Nelson Lowhim; used by permission.
Amy Uyematsu is a Sansei poet and teacher from Los Angeles. She has five published collections: Basic Vocabulary (Ren Hen Press, 2016), The Yellow Door (Ren Hen Press, 2015), Stone Bow Prayer (Copper Canyon Press, 2005), Nights of Fire, Nights of Rain (Story Line Press, 1997), and 30 Miles from J-Town (Story Line Press, 1992). She was a public high school math instructor for 32 years. Amy currently leads a writing workshop at the Far East Lounge in LA's Little Tokyo.
