I take in the scene from a safe distance.
I miss three days of work and check the news
compulsively. Before bed, I list my fears
in descending order, ending in my fear of sleep.
When I open my phone, a blue pointer
hovers above where I lie on a map.
I scroll through the ocean to illustrate
how places can be close and far at the same time.
How when we talk about distance,
we really mean proportions.
I text my friends and apologize
for my inability to leave the house.
Worry wart autocorrects to worry earth.
And, like everything these days, I wonder
which came first—the data or the code.
If everyone like me is just like me,
how are there people on the street?
People on the subway, when I’m on the subway?
Oh world, I want to know how you’ve held up
all these years, with all these people
walking all over you. I am so lucky.
I can’t believe my luck.