Poem: in a lifeboat

It’s strange.

It’s a bit like being
in a lifeboat.

There you are.

You are with,
who are with.

What you have,
you have.

You wish
you had packed more.

All of a sudden,
things become important.

How many of these are there?
How many of those?

All of sudden
you ration.

All of sudden
you adapt.

All of sudden
things that wouldn’t make you excited
do.

A crate a food floats by.
You cheer.

A box of toilet paper,
and there are tears of joy.

It’s strange,
being in a lifeboat,
waiting for rescue.

But in a way,
that’s sort of what it’s like.

Your house,
floating in the sea of the world,
feels so contained,
so isolated.

Sure,
you have a radio
and you hear of storms.

It’s a connection,
but not really.

There you are,
floating,
kind of alone,
waiting for rescue,
for the megaphone,
from the ship,
saying everything,
is now okay.

It’s strange,
in the lifeboat,
waiting,
for the feeling,
of solid ground.