The house is quiet.
Laundry folded and waiting on the living room floor,
open window sharing the cooling air and a little bit of streetlight.
I am willing my mind to be quiet
but on it hums.

Only Tuesday, and it's already been a week.
A week of practices and whining and groceries.
Online drama and friends that feel too far away
to hug and reassure.
Midterms done, count-down to the end in progress and a kiddo
who, despite having my heart for three years,
is still giving up on herself.
And I can't change any of it.

Sometimes, in the glare of the afternoon,
it paralyzes me.
Stuck.
Unable to go out and plant the tomatoes
read another story
plan an art project.
And I'm not who I want to be.

But in the quiet dark,
I come around.
Gather the dishes, sweep the floor, find the playdough recipe.
Imagine that tomorrow just may be the day we get it all done.
Find my way back
to me