35

When I was young, I would curl up on my dad’s lap

and snuggle my shoulder under his armpit,

my ear to his chest.

I could hear his heart beating and stomach gurgling.

I’m medicated, now.

Our yard was small, so we played in the road.

Kids from the whole block would come play dodgeball, tag, S.P.U.D.

Then, “CAR!”

and we scattered.

Now we are just scattered.

I grew up. College, marriage, house, kid.

All the right steps

on all the wrong stairwells.

More orange bottles.

I miss feeling. I miss the feeling.

Faces and hands and legs and mouths.

Fingers in hair.

Forehead to forehead.

We are so close

I could reach out,

but even if we touched

I would not feel a thing.

Another prescription to pick up.

Years ago, waking up hungover

we would laugh at ourselves

and grimace when the sound made our heads split.

We were together.

No mortgages, spouses, children.

Just each other, and next weekend.

Now there’s just a next dose.

My child builds a dirt castle while we wait for the bus

and tells me it’s a school.

He jabs the center with his finger and says the hole is a place to hide.

I smile because he loves hide-and-seek.

He says it’s where they would hide during a lockdown.

I can only hope he comes home.

They don’t make tablets for this.

I am hopeless.

Or I feel hopeless.

In this moment

I can’t tell the difference.

For all my strength,

it’s not enough.

The effort makes me weak.

I would give up if I knew how.

If I were a blade of grass,

I would see the sun every day

and the moon,

and my only worry would be growing.

No one expects grass to create

anything other than itself.

I crave a big life,

and I am irritated by my own dissatisfaction.

Did I remember to take my meds?

I make dinner,

again.

Move the laundry.

Sleep.

Work.

Again.

Again.

Again.

My bootstraps wore out ages ago.

I have nothing left to pull myself up by.

I could try to climb my mountain of orange bottles,

but I don’t have the right gear,

and they topple so easily.

I reach out,

but no one sees my hand

to grab it.

People surround me,

but the solid ground they stand on

is an illusion,

and they can’t reach me

any more

than I can reach them.

I am falling,

falling.

Someone forgot to yell “CAR!”

I am still looking

for a way back,

or maybe,

just a new prescription.