I am not the one who wakes
in the morning
with a stomach full of lead.
I am not the one with pandemic fatigue.
I am not the one holding my breath
until November 3rd.
I am not the one drowning
in a bag of potato chips.
I am not the one spying
on my children
as they stare
vacant-eyed
at screens.
I am not the one who wonders
what kind of world they will inherit.

I am the one who delights
in the sensation
of silky dog ears
between my fingers.
I am the one soothed
by whispers of wind
on my skin.
I am the one who watches the leaves
on the Japanese maple
curl in on themselves
turn golden
turn amber
turn crimson.
I am the one whose heart cartwheels
as my children giggle
over something
not meant for parents’ ears.
I am the one who holds all the feelings
breathes deeply
and sees them slip away.
I am the one who melts
into my husband’s side
as we drift off in the quiet dark.
I am the one who wakes
in the morning
with hope.