‘Homebound’ — Pandemic Art by kenne
The Days Blur
The days blur as we self-quarantine, to make less work for others.
The days blur, the spot on the floor next to my bed, my feet land with a thud
and I am IT director, chef, housekeeper, nurse, and tele-worker all before 9am.
The days blur, my hand on backs, foreheads, my ears alert for coughing,
thermometer at the hip like a gunslinger.
The days blur, I touch my husband, so I don’t forget what it feels like.
The days blur from rain or crying, the world a watery vision framed by window panes.
The days blur until it’s midnight, 1am—I’ve waited out the cacophony
of children for a silence smothered in anxiety. Privilege is a house,
the hum of a deep freezer, a steady job.
The days blur and my waistband expands as my mind frays, needing a hem.
The days blur and the wound I am oozes, the scab yet to start.
The days blur and racists fight for the right to be served—humanity is a bauble
and capitalism has slashed the price.
The days blur as COVID types its initials on a new high score and doctors adjust the margins.
The days blur and when I finally walk out my door, the world will be less, not more.
— Teri Ellen Cross Davis
