Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Theophilus Kwek

THE TWO BRAVEST HUMANS

DE TWEE DAPPERSTE MENSEN

‘Singapore begon [vorige december] met vaccineren, en mensen in de zorg
waren de eersten die een prik kregen…’
– Channel NewsAsia

 

Moeder gaat eerst, zegt ’t is niks, en doet
de ochtend erop haar rondes weer. Totaal 

geen angst. Haar patiënten weten niet wat ze
gedaan heeft maar wel dat ze terug is, de verplegers 

ook, op maandag donderdag vrijdag met van die
doosjes vol pillen. Soms komt er niemand anders 

dus zijn alleen zij er, in handschoenen en uniform
gewikkeld, gelach toedienend. Vader is daarna 

en – aangezien hij helemaal nog niet
zo heel lang beter is – veinzen we slechts 

onze zorgeloosheid. Maar diezelfde week
gaat hij weer aan ’t werk, in volle gang, kliniek gevuld 

op elke zachte ochtend. Bij het eten
zegt iemand op een avond wacht maar af, 

iets over bijwerkingen die maanden later
pas optreden. Anderen knikken, er is zo veel 

dat we nog niet weten. Het is nog licht als ik opsta
om te gaan, maar alles wat ik zie is hen

twee samen thuis, de één staand, de ander
schilderend aan de keukentafel, bruine zachte 

streken van een gezicht, twee gezichten, de twee
dapperste mensen hoewel ze ’t niet zouden zeggen.

THE TWO BRAVEST HUMANS

‘Singapore began its vaccination exercise [last December],with healthcare
workers the first to get the shots…’
– Channel NewsAsia

 

Mother goes first, says it’s nothing, is back
on her rounds the morning after. So much 

for fear. Her patients don’t know what it is
she’s done but that it brings her back, nurses

too, Mondays Thursdays and Fridays with those
boxes of pills. Sometimes no-one else comes

so they’re all there is, wrapped up in their gloves
and gowns, dispensing cheer. Next is Father’s 

and––since it hasn’t been that long, really
since his sickness went away––we only 

pretend not to worry. But that same week
he’s back at it, full swing, his clinic packed 

straight through the balmy mornings. At dinner
one night someone says maybe wait and see, 

something about side effects taking months
to show. Others nod their heads, just so much

we don’t know. It’s still light when I get up
to go, but all I can see is the two 

of them at home, one standing, the other
at the kitchen table painting, brown soft 

strokes of a face, two faces, the two
bravest humans though they’d never say so.

Close

THE TWO BRAVEST HUMANS

‘Singapore began its vaccination exercise [last December],with healthcare
workers the first to get the shots…’
– Channel NewsAsia

 

Mother goes first, says it’s nothing, is back
on her rounds the morning after. So much 

for fear. Her patients don’t know what it is
she’s done but that it brings her back, nurses

too, Mondays Thursdays and Fridays with those
boxes of pills. Sometimes no-one else comes

so they’re all there is, wrapped up in their gloves
and gowns, dispensing cheer. Next is Father’s 

and––since it hasn’t been that long, really
since his sickness went away––we only 

pretend not to worry. But that same week
he’s back at it, full swing, his clinic packed 

straight through the balmy mornings. At dinner
one night someone says maybe wait and see, 

something about side effects taking months
to show. Others nod their heads, just so much

we don’t know. It’s still light when I get up
to go, but all I can see is the two 

of them at home, one standing, the other
at the kitchen table painting, brown soft 

strokes of a face, two faces, the two
bravest humans though they’d never say so.

THE TWO BRAVEST HUMANS

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère