The medium spin cycle on the washer goes so fast I can only make out colorful blurs
And is a good representation of the anxiety I feel whirling around inside
As I wash away the last bits of a life that feels like it was a dream
One that ended in a constant struggle to wake people up to the need to evacuate the country
Even though none of us have a place to call home because we’re always on the move
One that ended with my partner and I pleading for our friends to go somewhere, anywhere else
To think beyond ourselves
To take things seriously
To think of our families, and of strangers’ families
One that ended in my best friend pleading with me to go and stay safe
Instead of listening to the urge to stay and try to fix and fix and fix
Instead of watching my people go to the supermarket to stock up
And only come back with 7 bottles of wine
Reminding me it’s not my responsibility to tell them how to live their lives
Reminding me I can’t tell others how to react when we’re in the midst of a global crisis they don’t want to wake up to
The timer on the washer has been stuck at 7 minutes left for what feels like 7 weeks
And I’m tethered here
With nothing left to do
But write another poem
Leaning on the wall opposite this machine
Feeling the ground beneath me tremble