Lockdown

So strange

That we sit here, seventeen and now
so used to quiet grief,
a ritual
no different from brushing
our teeth or feeding
the cats.

That we have to settle around
the empty places, arms awkwardly around
shadow shards and memories and
unbrushed wilding dust.

That we have to fill ourselves
right next to them.

That we’re emptying all the same.
That it’s all so quiet.

by A.J.