Jennifer Franklin

In my favorite fresco, a skull hovers over a speckled blue butterfly and wooden wheel— soul versus fortune. Ancient citizens near Vesuvius gazed at the same sunken eye sockets— unprepared for disaster as they drank wine and dined with cutlery top-heavy with silver skulls. Two years ago, I was one of thousands to walk these ruins. Now the poppies of Pompeii are untrampled during our plague. We wait while politicians and scientists decide when we can return outside without endangering ourselves and others. On Hart Island, workers in hazmat suits dig mass graves. According to archeologists, humankind’s most lasting contribution to earth will be the endless stash of chicken bones we buried in the soft soil.