A makeshift office

set up in living room.

 

There are mango trees

outside my window.

 

Mynahs made bold

by quiet avenues.

 

& the rustle of

heavy branches,

 

loud in the absence

of morning traffic.

 

Come out, they say.

it’s warm out here.

 

Across the world

the green grows lavish

 

but no one to witness

blossoms flowering

 

or their eventual wilt

onto sidewalks

 

barely touched since

March.

 

 

 

 

 

One month ago

I took out my contacts,

& have not worn them since.

 

There is no need—

not when the furthest I’ll see

is our yellowed walls, long due

 

for repainting. The dust on our

shelves. The table that shakes,

the clutter I can’t make myself

 

throw out. It’s okay.

The future can remain in

uncertain stasis.

 

Within these walls

there are more pressing

things to fix.