Reply to a COVID-related Reasonable Accommodation Decision Notification Letter
by Livia Meneghin
Winner of the 2022 Peseroff Prize for Poetry
The institutional language of medical and clerical systems is a whipstitch passing through the lives of the disabled and sick. Its presentation as neutral obscures, through euphemism and obfuscation, the violence of these systems in ways that can be difficult to make sense—much less poetry—out of. And yet, with acerbic wit, "Reply to a COVID-Related Reasonable Accommodation Decision Notification Letter," unveils this surreal institutional violence. One-by-one, the poet introduces seemingly disparate threads about therapy dogs and almonds, anti-sonnets and borrowed scraps of institutional language, before brilliantly threading them together into an ending that highlights the way these systems dehumanize the sick—render us less than animals. While this is very much a poem of our current moment, and the way medicalized bodies are abandoned as society "returns to normal," its critiques penetrate far deeper, making clear the stakes of daily life in a system that doesn't care if we live or die.
torrin a. greathouse
–2022 Peseroff Poetry Prize Judge
Reply to a COVID-Related Reasonable Accommodation Decision Notification Letter
my hospital gown was cyan \ the therapy poodle, Toby, didn't need one because he was a dog \
only for humans in need of resources \ in need of nine hours under \ my mother helped me
undress for my first shower post-knife \ the bathroom was cyan but sadder \ sunlight slipped past
steam \ refracting against the tile \ i turned to hide my breasts, lifted my shirt inch by inch as her
hands assisted the cloth \ she checked the temperature of the water \ warm \ “are you alright,
sweetheart” \ i should note, this poem is an anti-sonnet because it does not express love \ i want to
make my reply clear \ because i learned how to write here, at Emerson \ did you know cyanide has
a bitter almond odor \ imagine a rotting at your fingertips as you beg for nutrition \ golden brown
turning green on your tongue and \ it’s too late to turn back and \ the tree tells you that you always
had the choice to walk away \ forgive me for not believing the College cares \ your letter says you
reviewed the documentation submitted by my physician \ says this decision is limited \ says my
request to teach completely online is denied \ did you know when you take a radiation pill everyone
leaves the room to observe you, swallowing, through a window \ any future requests will be
evaluated independently \ i only have one question, thank you for asking \ if a dog eats one
chocolate covered almond, just one, will he be alright or turn a pale blue as the process is completed
Livia Meneghin (she/her) is the author of Honey in My Hair and a review writer for GASHER. She is also a 22-23 Writers' Room of Boston Poetry Fellow. Her writing has found homes in The Academy of American Poets, Solstice Lit, Entropy, Tinderbox, Whale Road Review, and elsewhere. She earned her MFA at Emerson, where she is now affiliated faculty and Program Coordinator for EmersonWRITES.