I Hope This Finds You Well Ellen ZB
i hope this finds you well. i hope this finds you doors locked, windows cracked. i hope this finds you cutting mask shapes from your spouse’s t-shirts, looping elastic over your ears to get the sizing right. i hope this finds you baking bread in the loaf pans you got for your wedding and never used. oil the pans, pat down the dough, wash your hands again, knuckles rough, nail-beds like cracked earth. i hope this finds you in your bedroom sobbing. i hope this finds you watching another commercial with a gaggle of singing kids, parents smiling, preternaturally calm like their hearts aren’t jetpacks, like they aren’t counting the minutes their kids are outside dreading cooking dinner again weighing the risks of food delivery adjusting their masks, washing their hands. i hope this finds you too tired for anger too nervous for sleep. i hope this finds you in a closet in lieu of an office typing reports on a laptop you bought to write stories.
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