I am a creature of routine

who does not know her routine.

The morning bell rings and I

am already awake, waiting.

Last night I dreamed I was stuck

In a techno box that was supposed

to fly but instead it dropped

into the ocean. There were vats

on the side, like gills, and I

had not received instructions

on how to survive, but I knew

somehow I would have to become

like the box, like the fish.

My throat sliced itself open

so I could breathe

and I did, feeling nothing

but water as my home.

But then I realized

I was still trapped

inside the box,

breathing.

Adapt is all I know, sometimes

I wish I didn’t have to, sometimes

I wish I could fly and swim and walk

simultaneously. Sometimes, I just

need to sleep past my alarm.

I stayed in bed an extra two hours

the whole time talking to myself

interspersed with moments of deep silence.

Is it enough to close my eyes and pray

to a God and Gods that have beautiful

grandmother faces,

to ask them please,

help me, today? I worry

I will be a burden

if I ask the same of them tomorrow

but some other part of me,

a deeper part, a quiet part,

tells me the Gods will always

listen to my prayers.

Nothing I ask of them

no matter how much I do it

will ever be “too much.”