working from home

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time puddles around me. bleak and thick.

the seconds stretch on like warm chewing gum.

 

until they are minutes and the minutes stretch

on until they are hours. then suddenly: days.

 

i turn on tracked changes and add commas.

i fix spelling and pretend to be proficient on InDesign. 

 

i type my dumb little emails on my dumb little computer.

someone at work starts mindfulness mondays.

 

i take photos of the sky every evening.

even when the sky isn’t there.

 

i feed my cat every morning. her incessant but

politely restrained howls when i am late to wake.

 

i download an app that translates her different

meows into english. she says, i’m hungry.

 

she says, i’m hunting. she says, quietly,

i love you. i’m here. can you see me?

 

sometimes i stand outside and listen to the birds.

let the breeze bite at me. but mostly i dont.

 

i run for the same bus to therapy

every week and nearly miss it every week.

 

when i arrive

i try to coax myself into the room

 

but i don’t come when i am called.

not even for a treat. she says

 

what would you like to work on today?

and i watch from the door as i shrug.

 

she spends the hour trying to draw me

out of myself. i pay her too much money and leave.

 

i go to glassons, farmers, david jones.

dizzy with the urge to buy something new and

 

bright and good. and then

i go back home: to my simple little life.

 

where i sit and wait

for him to come home and make me real.

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