Wild Writing 5/100

I am safe,

here in my bed, the sheets pulled up over my lap

my daughter sound asleep in the room next to me.

The lock-down of each state is a good thing.

People staying in their homes is a good thing.

"We are not stuck at home, but safe at home", they're saying.

The questions he just lobbed at me while I was standing in the kitchen eating prunes?

Those are his curiosity and his anxiety.

I do not need to soothe of fix whatever it is I believe he's feeling or wanting from me.

No. Not unless he asks me.

I am determined to get some sleep tonight,

to lie in bed at least for 9 hours

to languidly curl up in the flannel sheets and be horizontal for a while

to literally take the weight off my body

each night I realize how frazzled I was during the day

a surface thrumming always keeping me mildly uncomfortable and most certainly distracted

I am safe

even when the noise from upstairs makes me want to scream

even when emails enrage me

even when a simple family walk feels like chaos

and a conversation with a neighbor is triggering.

I am safe.

My body is secured to the ground by gravity,

and the sun is warm and I am clothed and fed

and as rested as any mother can aim to be.

I am safe, even if I don't feel like it.

Even if I want to yell and scream in fear and rage to

stop the influx, the drama, the pain.

I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.

(Prompt is my own. I am creating a timed piece of wild writing every day for 100 days for this year’s 100 Day Project.)