Nurses wear solid cotton—bleached
white or blue poly blends meant to resist
wrinkles plus blood's bright red batik.
Camo scrubs are tugged on for marathon
shifts of duty, and robes in disposable
yellow—layers meant to cover what is under
and over—permanent scars, degrees of privilege—
inherited sin—a specific liquid mix of nature/
nurture, secular culture, the vapor of faith,
the solid of science.
Nurses record vitals, measure words, switch
from Spanish to English between generations
of family members denied their bedside
vigils. They adjust the orange glow from
oxygen saturation monitors placed on their
patient's left index finger. Their exhaustion
is a universal gray—their eyes shadowed with
purple. Face shields and masks leave deep red
ridges on brows and nose bridges. They change
dressings, smell the stink of wounds that weep
chartreuse behind gauze. They collect amber
urine; its reek of sweet dips positive for sugar.
On ten-minute breaks they watch CNN's ever
changing map-key—primary colors mark hotspots
trending across borders. Transparent ET tubes
cuffed against leaks are secured and taped while
outside police wield weapons against protestors.
Mortality rates skew high toward skin shaded
dark. Data provides clear patterns in the political
mud. Meanwhile universal precautions must be
taken—all air presumed positive—spiked with
sharp viruses that thrive in a subatomic world
where light has no meaning. Scientists paint
neon colors to highlight cellular micro-structures,
but the virus can't reflect the dusky complexion
just before the living cross over to the dead.
Judge’s Comment:
The primary colors of the pandemic, subtly woven throughout the poem "Covid Colors," both tinted and tainted most of our lives, but especially those of health care workers and family members witnessing the "dusky complexion" of loved ones, "the living cross[ing] over to the dead." This layered poem captures the complexities of care, compassion, and grief in today's divided world.
Jenna Rindo
Poet’s Statement:
Though my hospital nursing career lasted only seven years those experiences and the anatomy, microbiology, and physiology content I studied continue to surface in my poems. "Covid Colors" was written with great thanks and appreciation for all Frontline workers. It's also my public affirmation that. . . science is real and viral illnesses should not be contaminated by politics.