By Smriti Jha
Wedding veil for the son's shroud,
38 weeks stomped
Tyrant's constant ignorance,
1043 weeks, vaporized in seconds,
Sashes, white collars, black caps
They never bring him back;
Only paralyzing nightmares;
Only some orphan's pallor & prayer
Wide, sunken eyes stare;
With Brontë and Byron, absent
To shed light or irrationally romanticize;
Sashes, white collars, black caps
They never bring him back;
The ancient aristocrat of all aches,
Wilted, the white lilac
-Hollow hallways-
Now "consume" -HER!
Her pallor mirror(s)- the dew
That faded too soon, for whom
She has lurked, in the graveyard,
Total thirteen full moon(s);
Sashes, white collars, black caps
They never bring him back;
Oh! Don't ask to swallow the pill;
For the dying,
For the buried,
The disease is where the cure isn't;
Sashes, white collars, civilized black caps
They never bring him back;
Hands of Midas,
Dipped in Dom Pérignon;
Perhaps the poor world fell behind;
With wings crafted by savants,
All civilized, all aloof -arose- Icarian carrion;
Perhaps midnights are shorter at poles
Than in Sierra Leone.
One poem can have multiple interpretations, but because I wrote this one about TB (aka consumption), I feel it's vital to add my perspective. My mom used to suffer from it. It is gut-wrenching that people in regions like Sierra Leone or even the remote regions of India aren't as privileged as her to get proper treatment.
Opening with a harrowing scene of a mom repurposing her wedding veil as a shroud underlines the death of her spouse and son and the indifference of the rich. She sees him in nightmares and other frail TB patients. The poem highlights the lack of discourse. Charlotte Brontë (died of TB) and Lord Byron are dead; so is the time when TB affected the rich and was a matter of at least unhealthy romanticization. TB is painted as an insidious force, wilting life. The mom is portrayed as frail (like her son, who is symbolized by a dew) and emotionally scarred by consumption (TB). She can’t swallow a pill, as neither it is present nor will it curb her grief. Icarus and Midas symbolize the rich (Icarian-ambitious, carrion-flesh of animals, wings-the cure), blamed for poisonous ambition, superiority complex, and indifference. The poor world falls as they rise. Thus, the disparities in access to healthcare become clear (as seen in Sierra Leone, West Africa).
This is so beautiful