My Daughter Quarantined In The Basement
By Nicole Cooley
daughter I can’t see daughter once of padlocked diary stickered with hearts
sewing machine given by my mother of bundled yarn
embroidery hoop she cross-stitches in blue F*ck this shit
of springform pan daughter of 3-layer chocolate cakes
with meticulous design daughter wishing for a separate life
for space from me as she should at 17
yet she is sick and I can’t touch her and how I wish
I had a baby monitor as I go to sleep each night not knowing
and outside winter is turning the squirrels are brash and ravenous
like last spring will this one be furiously green are all seasons now
exaggerated versions of themselves this winter such pure dark
Are you writing about this? my girl snapchats me from the basement
among our dirty laundry boxes of baby sleepers stringed
Christmas lights I picture her lying on the floor
curled in blankets with the stuffed hedgehog she took down
for comfort when she found out she tested positive and all
I wish is that I could place my palm over her forehead
check for fever set a cool washcloth on her face hold her
on my lap spin a pink bulb of Tylenol between her lips
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