Notes on the Great Isolation

By Kay-Ann Henry

My day

is

slumbering till my limbs are ready to move

drinking enough water to start a river

dicing the base to the best dishes (skellion and bell peppers).

I stick my head out

for mists of air

arm myself with hand sanitizer

and endlessly walk around at supper time.

I am anxious                                                 I am grateful.

Stillness has made me recognize

a new gnawing in my bones

a seething underneath my skin.

A desire to create the uncreated

to produce gold

haunts us all

like a disease.

But

it’s okay

to be mundane

to be like silver.

I want to reach inside myself

and hug this consuming thing,

quell it.

Tell it all I will do is

obey my nocturnal desires

dance to the music of our now-future

listen to the grumbling of the Metrorail

watch the ritual of trees

and sleep.


Author:

Kay-Ann Henry (she/her) is a queer-identifying Jamaican writer and poet, living in Miami! She is currently attending the University of Miami, studying journalism, sociology and creative writing. She loves astrology, June Jordan and day-dreaming. Find her on Twitter @kaypoetaa_ and Instagram @kaypoetaa_.


This poem is a part of the DISTANCED project.

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