A poem a day each April, for Katya the Poet's Dew Drop Inn |
There is much too much of this the waking fear, anxiety, immediate & insistent on its asshole self the same five pair of leggings, same five paint-spattered tank tops the desperate empty breakfasts, the becoming of the hermit, hiding, the happy acting on the Zoom; I never ever use the cam if I can help it the bras & all the makeup, waiting, righteous & respectful in the drawer the snack box re-filled daily, waiting on the porch for the delivery drivers the call to mom, to dad, then text my bestie will neither ever dear depart? the guilt, an only and adopted child shame all wrapped in running dialogue (the need to tell you I don't say "bestie" I'm Gen X but it had a cooler sound) the litter box, the coffeepot, the sheets can wait another fucking couple days the random rage; resentment; slam the vacuum, cram the dishes in the wash the tired mile pieces on the treadmill in the ass room, I should paint it emerald the laptop on, job one, job two, scrabble game, shop online, scan the headlines, the incessant checking on a poem, blog post, email correspondence, the forecast the muffled awkward masked eye contact drugstore quick counter conversations the ritual purring, bark & gurgle, one third of three fish wailing fuck this up & died the avoidance of all (anti)social media where twice my mind departed in a rush the episode in season 6 where Nellie and Laura fight in the mud over Almanzo the voice I haven't used on humans since this past Monday when I needed milk the attempt at meditation it ain't easy, sister, to sit alone with silence in your Self the days avoiding everything, God bless Amazon, Goddess bless carriers of mail the nightly call asking how my violentsilent son has done this day: it's a crap shoot the increasingly early bedtimes can Groundhog Day be over now? It's nearly eight the lining up the nightly gummies: multi, melatonin, the toss the motherfucking turn the tick tock times I cannot fall, awake, the evil monkey mind silver cymbals clashing the news, appointments, lines, the sterile ex-Sears vast and systematic vaccinations the almost-booked vacations researched planned & ready in a so-called shopping cart the Coronavirus era for entitled cis white silly me; one might say she's benevolent cray. note ▼ |