Concrete Poetry
   of Modern Love

   In   late   2020,  I got  very  sick. After  many
  months,    specialists
   and dollars,  there  is   still only   a   guess:   long-haul Covid.   I   couldn’t breathe  properly.   An alien  lived
  inside me.   I   was  single, scared. What   if  something    happened to me? My
  friend  asked me
   daily  for    my   “thumb  status,” even though  he  hates texting  because   he   says   his thumbs are  too  big.  On  rare  good   days,   I  sent  photos   with
    a thumbs   up.   More were  neutral
 thumbs.      Most
   were
  thumbs
   down.   Pain.    Fatigue.  Fear. Every day  he
    asked.
  Every  day  I answered.    Every  day we  sent   love through our  thumbs.  —  Emily
  O.  Gravett