It always happens when there is too much
light, too much pollen, too much
The birds sing me awake.
The leaves are closing in.
I get tired.
I can’t digest.
All my life.
While my sisters played on the porch
I hid in the meadow.
While my friends splashed in the pool,
I climbed the outcrop to be alone.
While my colleagues ate eggs and muffins,
I sat on a green bench by the river
to pull myself together.
And now, this terrible year,
when there are no parties to avoid or dread,
I’m weighted down by the heat, by the sun.
Like a bear, I could be in a cleft in the rocks,
asleep until snow,
until mornings are quiet and dark again.
Until there is nothing to eat but roots and bread.