They are tying ribbons
on the trees now—
for the first responders
and emergency workers,
the caregivers, the doctors and nurses,
for all the healthcare providers
and essential workers
wearing their masks and their bravery
into the fray.
So, I tied a ribbon to the nearest tree
to honor those serving on the front lines,
only the ribbon wouldn’t reach all the way
around the trunk like I wanted it to, like a hug.
Instead, I tied the ribbon around a branch,
one that looked like it was reaching out to help
or to comfort, maybe a neighboring tree,
only there weren’t any other trees nearby.
Even at a distance, this tree could be connecting
deeply through its roots—together though apart,
as we write to long-lost friends, sew makeshift masks
for neighbors, and inquire whether we can donate blood,
all while gathering up our ribbons or perhaps some yarn,
braided & homespun, to tether to the nearest tree
or fencepost or latch—wondering even whether
our shoelaces would suffice for showing solidarity,
in times when we do our small part by staying home.
And this tree will wear its ribbon as a signal of aid,
like medics have worn during past pandemics & wars
because snow is falling on field hospitals this winter,
and the front lines feel like wartime—
and for us all, this is a time for love & grief
and heartache, and reaching out,
and digging deep.
Jenevieve Carlyn Hughes teaches humanities for university students. In her free time, she enjoys birdwatching, rarely with binoculars. You can follow her on Instagram @sea_thistle.
Another version of this poem was previously published in Front/Lines: Nurse Poets & Pandemic Perspectives (Jun. 2020) under the title Red Ribbons.