So much zombie sorrow … Erin posts a poem, “Containment,” for the Fukushima Fifty this a.m.

Posted by Linda Watanabe McFerrin

for the Fukushima Fifty

Man in white—HasMat/level A—

ghostlike, moving, breathing slowly—

in my horrified dream I hear your ragged

inhalation-exhalation through the

Self Contained Breathing Apparatus (SCBA)

they say will keep you safe

from radiation: particles and gas.

These could choke you, stop your already

laborious progress through a plant that men made

to fuel a lust for power.

You are anonymous, face encapsulated

by the hood, voice rattled

by the Supplied Air Respirator, pushed

into the Voice-Operated Channel—your

umbilicus to Clean-Up Operations.

You are my zombie hero, dead man walking,

while the Big Brains meet and find new ways

to slice and dice the acceptable margin

for terror.

If I could shower you in flowers, make whole

the body that you sacrifice, through some

bright communal magic, I would do it.

But you are that magic; you are the white-bright

light of courage that dares to contend with

the murderous pissing poison, the greed, the desire,

and patiently

clean it up.

—Erin Orison

ed. note:
Fukushima Fifty

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