Actually I’m a match three game and

a stack of EOBs and

the three different hallways

I walked through

to get the first

vaccine.

 

Actually I’m a cane and

a pillbox and every party guest

dancing in

the upstairs apartment and

actually, I’m a nipple shield and a binder and

a mask and actually I’m

the mesh bag

my husband launders

our masks in.

 

Actually I’m butter and

Diet Coke and coffee. Actually I’m the coffee table

my son holds onto to stand. Actually I’m the moving truck

that moves our new coffee table to North Carolina. Actually I’m every

character on The Office over and over again and actually

I’m a drawer full of KitKats. Actually

I’m an abandoned TikTok. Actually

I’m a TikTok of rabbits stretching,

actually I’m one of those videos

of escalating

terrible

cooking.

 

Actually I’m the first

good batch of avocados

in a year.

 

Actually I’m the trees you see

in the Gilmore Girls theme song.

 

Actually I’m the first time

my son calls me Mimi.

 

Actually I’m the four stairs where my hip always

gives out.

 

Actually I’m a full voicemail box

and an answering message with

my old name.

 

Actually I’m all of the naps my son

refuses

to take.

 

Actually I’m winter

over and over again,

 

Actually I’m the piles

of things I meant to put away.

 

Actually I’m the sound

of four hundred rings of church bells

 

just ringing

for anyone

still counting

 

the grief.