AustLit

Author's note (2020 re-publication):

About the poem:

In 2018, my dad died of a genetic condition called Interstitial Pulmonary Fibrosis — an incurable progressive scarring in the lungs. It was both expected and, of course, deeply unexpected. I included this poem here as, during this pandemic, I am confronted daily with photos of people on ventilators or experiencing permanent lung damage from COVID-19 complications. Anxiety causes shortness of breath, too, so the pandemic has become a time of deep, unsettling paranoia. Dad and I share a lot of genetic material — the anxiety, definitely, and who knows what else just yet. But his eyes were good, and parts of them were donated, so it was soothing to think of him giving sight to someone, maybe a child. Yesterday, grappling with Centrelink’s labyrinth of COVID-19-related forms, I instead found official advice on ‘What to organise before you die’ — reassuring! Anyway, it doesn’t take long to register for organ donation.