Transcription
April 12, 2020 - Easter, or more accurately the day of Eastre, the Anglo-Saxon name of a Teutonic goddess of spring and fertility, to whom was dedicated a month of corresponding to April. But this year we do not find Eastre's fertility rabbit, or its colored eggs, painted with bright pigments representing the sunlight of spring, used in Eastre-egg rolling contests or given as gifts. No. This year we celebrate a much older pagan tradition: epidemic. Eggs are rotting, and we bury them in lines stacked three deep.
The world is in quarantine, mask-clad and social distanced, with us still here, separated, tucked in limbo from years past, wearing cotton mask made at the womens' prison with frilly panty elastic. The mens' prison now looking like someone panty raided the womens' center, fulfilling the fantasy. "They could have at least wore them a little and jogged around, or something." Some of the men say, smiling through the stretched cotton/poly blend, reminiscing.
The masks are made MANDATORY for all prisoners to wear, AT ALL TIMES AND PLACES, immediately revealing the douchebag nozzles of the group: knuckleheads refusing to wear a mask, downplaying the danger, and pretending not to worry - or worse, not understanding why they should, why they need the mask, and why the older, the sick, and the healthy prisoners all need the masks: the liturgical color of Easter/Eastre 2020 is white, adulterated.
Ivory over the nose and mouth of each prison captive quarantined with no end in sight, confined in wait of a white sheet to Eastre.
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