As the world reels,
encapsulated in these four walls,
The daily murmur of the tree outside my balcony,
A million possibilities for my living room’s furniture,
Books stacked waiting to be read,
Canvasses drying in a corner,
Bonded pups who found their forever home; chaos is a noise to them.
Fabuloso & Clorox swirling on my hardwood floor,
Grapefruit scented candles masking this recycled air,
And the foul stench of post-covid hand sanitizer,
Welcome the ghosts of my past social life.
Heavy bass permeating through the wall,
Who failed to tell my neighbor’s we were meant to endure this alone?
The crunch of a dead wasp against my broom.
Finally a visitor, and yet unwanted.
It makes its home in the space between
what I longed this year to be.
Hope coats my taste buds.
I find it peaking through the carbonated musings of my sparkling wine.
Hope coats my taste buds,
Because I’m starving for a future built on its existence.
And in the stillness imposed by the concern for our survival,
I practice devouring it whole.