Quarantine

Ringing ears
drown the quiet.
Floor cold.
Feet bare and
sweating.

A plastic tree
lit and cornered.
Dull, white light,
red ribbons tied
precise and neat.
Underneath left behind,
rushed to barron
and wrinkled.
Not a box.
Not a bag.

Kitchen empty
and humming,
longing for flame
and scent.
Anticipation dry
of tastes.
Nose burnt
by the air
of absence.

The laundry echoes
down the hall,
the knocks and rolls,
toil and repetition.
Residues heated,
realeased, and
blown under
the floor,
to winter.

Children's rooms
empty
without dented pillow.
Sheets unturned,
tucked with
the weight of dust.
Soft night lights
drive the dark away.
Old lullybys echo,
burning eyes.

Wisemen perch
on the mantle,
gathered,
waiting.
Clay baby Jesus
motionless
like the death
of quick years
and spinning memories
over a hearth
cold of joys
and warm hands.

Chest twitched
by coughs.
Tight breathes
cycle in and away.
Fatigue presses
sore
in a chair
shadowed by table lamp
and old beach pictures.

The angst of
10 days,
a fading horizon
with heart
driving fast
towards a promise
of more days,
reunion,
and a new year.