Written by Jennifer Wise
This room is stale.
The blinds are down.
The air conditioner is the only sound.
I sit in the same spot
On the couch
For most of each day;
I can’t remember the last time
I ran from a bee
Or saw trees in the wind,
Moving newly each time,
Bustling upward, and rustling out squirrels.
I can’t imagine
It’s that different now.
How long until I hear a bird during the day?
Or see a bat at twilight?
I didn’t choose this.
Who wants to panic in the pasta aisle
At a grocery store?
What do I say to a stranger?
What are the appropriate topics
For small talk?
I forgot how difficult it was to be a person.
I’ve slid the metal doors;
They keep me in. All by myself,
I let my hinges loosen
And stare at the same shelf,
And think the same things
I’ve thought all month.
The pool isn’t large,
And the hand is exacting:
That corner is identical to when I looked over there
At six pm;
And how lovely—
That song is screaming
At my eardrums again.
I recognize,
And have thought about
Every object in this room.
There is no longer a way
To surprise me.
Text © Jennifer Wise
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