soon this house will be torn down to make room for another hotel.

tiny soaps arrive outside
each of our bedroom doors. 
a super 8
is weeping by the side of the road.
my dad would talk about 
taking us on a trip to go look 
for fossils
but we never left 
& the fossils have all dissolved by now. 
our shoes became our feet 
or was it the other way around? 
we even bought sifting trays 
to cull the bottoms of streams.
the urge to stand 
in the middle of the creek 
is over-powering me.
i count to ten. 
cool clear water up to my waist. i count
to twenty. smooth stones beneath 
my feet. i need to wait
until it stops raining
to drive through the center 
of another nectarine. my friends 
are all waiting for me 
on a Zoom call. i won't be joining them.
what happens if everyone i knew
forgets i exist? 
if a tree falls
in my heart will i hear it?
probably not. i am not the best listener.
i put on a sound machine 
just to try to sleep.
artficial rain is better than 
real rain any day. nothing wet
just the sound. 
i record your voice
& make a sound machine of you.
i am no longer lonely. 
i miss 
everyone. i cannot wait to be 
alone. soon all the pizza places
will open up 
their crampt little booths.
soon the virus will be a song lyric. soon
you will arrive on my doorstep 
as a tuft of onion grass
to be eaten. i will pluck you 
& cradle you like a shell.
wash you in the sink
with tiny hotel soaps.