The River in our Rooms
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