The River in our Rooms

by Spencer Legebokoff

beginning as a foreign vapour
the moisture seeped through
we mopped, scrolling away the news
it swam under our doorways, into our lives
swelling to a creek, and eventually a river

we were at home for weeks, months 
lounging on it’s shore
sunken in our floors and walls
dustless in our basin of disinfectant

amidst the simultaneous hush 
our screens shone brighter
irrigated to our culture of busyness
saturated in the silence of our thoughts

knee deep, we fasted from each others presence
until fasting became a team diet
in excess, time was weightless
like fat, rising to a surface
a couple more weeks
it’ll be a while still
the swallows still migrated in the spring

we hadn’t read so many graphs in our lives
a bearded Trudeau monumented distance
Tiger King was the muse of many memes
our dogs were not overly concerned

revolting against the invisible villain 
our banners, Instagram stories
our protests, elbow-bumps
touch—a treasure on a deserted island
collectively, we sailed 
in uncharted waters, our maps were guesses

waist deep in our rooms
we waded in wait
in the ebb of solitude
we bobbed on our couches
in the flow of idleness
we treaded wells of fortitude

ancy, like trout on a full moon 
we flailed in our aquariums
or emulsified into our beds, baptized in lull
our reflections morphed into mirrors
each stream a different shade of introspection
flooded from the outside in
we wondered if we would sink or swim