Quarantine

Protect the softest parts of you. The parts that look like hide but are as tender as kitten paws not yet touched the earth.

Protect all the tired people in you. The ones who sigh, unable to bear another day. Who look too eagerly toward the ends of things. For whom, to be unseen and unremembered is of the greatest comfort

Protect the weariest parts of you. The parts that begin to tremble as your palm hovers lightly above. The parts that half hope to be struck because it is better than not knowing what could come.

Protect the festering wounds, the deep paper cuts, the deliberate bruises. Protect hands from becoming fists, skin from coming apart on impact.

Gather yourself about you. Guard the door when god stands up to leave.

 

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