Pandas
At night while my son sleeps fierce after another day spent learning how to be human at the end of his world I open my laptop and watch the pandas at the National Zoo. They gnaw bamboo, lumber around the enclosure—I think, caged. The pandas are not graceful but they are beautiful. Often, I watch them sleep. The pandas sleep, my son sleeps, my husband sleeps down the hall. In the morning, school calls: snow day. There is no room to breathe inside this house. The pandas play in the snow. I attend two meetings in my laptop. Teach my son to take deep breaths, to mute himself before becoming frustrated on screen. The pandas exist always nearby to each other on my iPhone as I text with friends each too far from me. The sun comes up, regardless; the pandas sleep. I watch my ceiling fan spin, ceaseless. Wait for the house to stir, make claim.
