The endless lockdown knocks life off balance.

Turn off the TV, the news is all bad.

All COVID-19. All day long.

Uncertainty is a live wire that electrifies the air.

Routines crumble, making room for whatever comes next.

I watch the debris to see what rises.

I claw the letters of my keyboard, stare at the screen.

My cat claws the window and stares at the squirrel, inches away.

We all stare at screens now. 

Our efforts to dig our way out of this are futile.

Making lists of long overdue chores to continue to avoid: Exercise. Vacuum. Dust. Clean the oven. Write the email. Scrub the tub.

I move in fits and spurts, aimless. The boundary between day and night, night and day blurs.

How long has it been since I showered?

I’m exhausted from sitting and eating and pacing the floor.

Suggested social distancing has become, “Just stay home.”

How long can I stare at these walls?

A walk through my neighborhood— a brief reprieve from the crushing monotony of solitude.

Social distancing is in full force on the sidewalks.

Walkers abide by an unspoken contract: Make quick eye contact above the mask, look away in apology.

Wide swaths of emptiness separate us. Not too close. Are you contagious?

Toilet paper is the great equalizer. Barren grocery shelves scream, naked and embarrassed.

Shoppers with empty carts shake their fists.

I hoard almost-finished rolls, saving the last few inches of paper that sticks to the cardboard.

Tubes lined up like soldiers ready for battle, atop the tank.

In case of emergency, pull.

We’re on day 30. Or is it 35? It blurs into a long, slow march.

Yet, in spite of it all, the sun rises.

A riot of birds chirp and whirl in the budding trees. Hyacinths bloom, indigo and white.

A neighbor’s mower growls in the distance.

Soup gurgles on the stove top.

Bread browns and crisps in the oven.

The sun sets, promising a fresh start tomorrow.