(c) 11/16/2021
When the quarantine hit, who knew, left to my own devices
I’d eat pecan ice cream and binge murder shows every day?
Violent images blurring and blending into each other
until I couldn’t remember what I’d watched already or not.
A kaleidoscope of killings that left me anxious and
physically ill.
Who knew I’d quit reading, more or less. Quit writing
or thinking beyond polarizing news and self-recrimination.
Who’s masking, who’s dying, where is the air better or worse?
Terrified of breath and breathing. We’ve all been here,
hanging in limbo while our worlds shut down.
Who knew that left to my own devices
I’d lay knotted on the love seat wondering
if I was developing deep vein thrombosis.
The indoor garden would brown and flower.
The in-home gym abandoned to sloth.
Crafts all boxed up on the highest shelf.
Who knew that I’d be consumed by dissatisfaction.
What do I even care about enough to take up or to keep?
Does it matter who I think I am if who I thought I was is
incorrect?
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