Stained sky blooms frame the trees

Morning toasts already

Spread too thin 

Last bit of cream to stretch 

Till Friday 

A lower lip shudder sucked up

Perch parched on top chopped on countertop

Domestic pleasure points a finger back at the dirty sink  

wrinkled cloth

Not just yet to wake the baby

Not just yet to start the day 

The fruits of Quarantine are ripening

A midday bath 

Draws smoke signals up

Invisible to night eyes

The fruits of quarantine are ripening  

 

We exhume forgotten cheese to eat with honey smeared mouths

Delighting in our spoils

A breastfed nap is now a moment to savor.

I let her stir slowly 

waking in my arms 

The fruits of quarantine are ripening

We walk together 

Through the forest 

Synchronized breathing

I can feel him again

Inside me 

No goodbye kiss

He has nowhere to go 

The fruits of quarantine are ripening 

Each night I wait 

And morning I wake 

Anticipating the turn from ripe to rot.