Strangely, I raise my head above the lip of now and turn my head: first, towards my father, who has always receded before me but now in desert spring he continues to young as I age; then, towards my brother who stoically proclaims that the virus was an engineering project gone wrong, protocol overrun perhaps some tired student or lab assistant forgot something somewhere? was it not the bat? i ask him, but he says we will never know. I know, but I still wish to hold some warm bat mother in my hands and tell her we will still protect her, but i cannot make promises anymore, neither to myself–(I will not leave the sponge in the sink, I will be more mindful of certain things)–but my vision is declining and I can’t read my writing without squinting, but sure, I’ll sign there on the long grey line. Where have we gone to? I ask my brother again, and he pauses for awhile before saying he can’t tell me until I’m older.


Location: Pacific Northwest

Story Type:


Submit your coronavirus
lost & found stories