Self-isolation has made me sharper,
like the cactus we pass on our walk.
Every day the same sidewalks, the same pace,
as if we can outdistance the stress.
My husband is quiet as I snap at the toddler-
he knows why I’m sharp.
He can see the stress gnawing at the ends
of my rope.
Each day comes before I have time to prepare
for the nothing
that we’re doing
that somehow is more than we have ever done.
Is it the stress that makes the house messier,
the bedtime routine take longer?
Did we always have so many toys to tidy
at the end of the day?
We give up hope of a clean house because we are just too tired
from the nothing
that is everything.