circumscribed life
today, like every other
before today—for long enough
that i’m beginning
to forget my former life
except that life never
ceases to spin in grief
filled pools i fall through
today, i water veggies
and hope for courage
to water tomorrow
and hope for a harvest
as if harvesting holds
promises I dare not
explore or wish for
today, i schedule resechedule
online students so necessity
is met and not left gnawing
at the doors, which no longer
open to children this singing
house silenced teaching
only love online is hard
today, like every other—
for far too long—i drift
my fingers along the
closed dusty piano lid
and wish i could bear
to not play—the notes
rub the broken edges
today, like every other
the notes tear open
thinly covered wounds
while laying a new solace
a fresh layer of skin
holding me together
as if i’m about to pour away
