Quiescent

The subtle darkness of the early spring night
Cascades onto the kitchen counter
As I reach for my S’well bottle
The tears begin
Water for water

I slump my face into upturned palms
They feel warm and wet
It’s not even one thing
It’s the intermediate-ness
So quiet and heavy

I don’t want to do yoga with a computer
Or meet on fucking Zoom
I feel sad
I feel remorse
I feel caught

Inside an invisible cell
Of rules and fear and masks
Of candles and canned food
Waiting, as a planet
To emerge from our terrifying hibernation