The future will look back
and summarize us
the story of a pandemic
that stole a year.
We will shout,
“it wasn’t like that”
“it was worse”
“it was messier”
“it was fine”
but the history books
can only fit so many words
so our voices
will simply be felt as wind
the same way we feel the ghosts
who came before
shouting down at us,
whipping trees in protest
every time we dare recap
with tidy words
something as littered
with as many bones
and strange glory
as war.