May morning sun floods my tropical island bed
safe and soft, body warmed sheets
tangled around toes dipped in sand. I linger
then steady myself for the commode trip down
the Silk Road hall to the hammam, heated floor,
window crystals creating rainbows on walls.
Next, I climb down the mountain steps where Bhutan
beckons, zafu awaits, soothing Spotify sounds
coax my attention and softly focus the day into being.
Trekking slowly back up the stairs to the kitchen,
the kettle simmers as Alexa cheerfully shares
the daily death toll. Then, fortified with green tea I fly
on the Turkish carpet to the Sri Lanka living room where
the blue yoga mat becomes a surfboard on the Bay of Bengal.
Moving through downward dog into midday doldrums,
I become drenched then rescued by the Australian waterfall,
wash, rinse, repeat— tears mixing with droplets from the shower
confuse me. Is it water from the shower or am I crying?
Next, I cautiously leave my safe home, trudge out the backdoor
on an afternoon journey to the jungles of Madagascar, feel a flutter
of hope as I check on newly planted lavender, pick a lemon
for tomorrow’s tea, recline below the tree canopy on the patio, resigned
to yet another Master Class, this one about interior design, then
slip back into the security of the mother ship as darkness creeps in,
grateful always in this moment to have survived another day—
journey to the oak walled dining palace of fine cuisine,
light a single candle, set a place for one with gold-rimmed
Wedgewood, push carrots around the plate, too dread-filled
to eat, when at last the plush African velvet cushions on the chaise
swallow me and I disappear into Netflix, city lights straining through
fog outside as I drift off to the late-night talk show hosts
monologue and into another night of vivid covid19 dreams.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
June Jackson is a retired hospice social worker, grief counselor, and grandmother to 11 children. She founded her high school literary magazine and contributed poems to it. Originally from Connecticut, she has lived in the Inner Sunset in San Francisco for 20 years. This is her first published work since high school.