Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Self Isolation Saturdays

Sunlight has settled outside,

knocking on the glass,

gazing at me,

the queen of quarantines,

decorated in my Sunday best,

my nostalgia,

for the outside world,
that I never really liked that much,

until it was a path,

to the side of the one I love,

is a thorn in my side,

and a thorn in my forehead.

I rode a bike once,

into the back of a van,

rearranging my face,

and I miss the rushing wind,

against my broken nose.

I miss my husband’s hand in mine,

when I would sleep,

his fingers tightly holding mine,

keeping me on the earth.

I leave it,

now and again,

when I dream,

when I think.

I leave more often,

now I have nowhere else to go.

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