Sleepless in a Pandemic

I am trying to practice

radical acceptance,

to banish the word should from my

thoughts,

to fully internalize that the world has never been as it

should be,

only as it ever

was.

credit: Polisner

In the mornings, I walk through my sleepy house

admiring the new couches

their calming blue gray hues draped with

cozy knit blankets, pompoms dangling

haphazardly

smacking of

frivolity,

the carved wood tray bought at a

discount store, boasting

scented candles and glass bottles

now trailing roots from cut herbs,

credit: Polisner

green and promising,

awaiting

transplant.

Credit: Polisner

You are an ant, I tell myself,

an insect,

nothing more.

Close your eyes and picture yourself this way,

too small to see from afar,

internalize how small and insignificant,

how readily snuffed out, unnoticed,

even by the simple movement of a

shoe.

To the ant, only the work matters,

all else rendered inconsequential by the

daily to and fro.

In the evenings, I light those scented candles,

the room filling with vanilla and

bergamot,

dim the lights and step onto my yoga mat

breathing in gratitude,

breathing out

fear,

and shame,

and sorrow,

forgetting, even now, how

an hour ago,

I clapped away a fruit fly

without

notice.

Tonight, in the dark,

with my husband and sons asleep in

other rooms,

I will walk to the living room window and gaze out back

at our small, humble plot of land,

one we have worked industriously enough to

accumulate and

care for.

Credit: Polisner

So much needs fixing:

the chipping paint,

the weathered, sagging bricks along the walkway,

the pool lining recently patched against

a disconcertingly

vortical

tear.

Credit: Polisner

The blond wood fence put in on-the-cheap last year

by a man I paid cash and worried after

until he told me he supported Trump

and became

verbally

abusive to me,

a fence that is already heaving and pulling from its stakes,

its broken gates tied with rope to

keep in

our little dog.

After a while, I stop surveying,

and walk back to bed through the

darkened rooms,

through shadows,

stepping, maybe, just a bit more

gingerly,

knowing

I cannot protect

anything.

Gae is the author of several novels for readers of all ages, though shelved as tween and young adult. You can read more about her and her books at gaepolisner.com

Just another writer trying to stay afloat in a sea of words. Author of several novels. Wannabe mermaid. Mother. Trying to age gracefully with no grace in sight.

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