all too soon, we’ve returned to streets colonized
by holiday masses. my blood slows
to a sluggish crawl, desires muted
even as my mind races
on a stationary bike. here
in this season of mandated rest,
i feel profoundly dislocated.
time pools like lakes of fat
on a cooled stew, days stretching
into a horizon of uncertainty. molding away
at home, i long to unzip my skin,
be charged with purpose.
meanwhile, a nagging voice buzzes
in my ear like tinnitus: “this time
is a gift from the universe” -
no fucking pressure.
tell me, how do i absolve myself
of this constant need to produce?
my compulsion to optimize, bias
for action? i need to accept rest
as a sacred part of life’s rhythm.
allow myself to simply exist,
untethered for now. here
in this fallow season, all i can do
is pursue what lights up my soul.
trust that the hunger will return.
that one day soon, my pulse will quicken,
rousing me from this moribund state.