It felt as if she had crossed a line
but not really a step more like an inching:
A universe of time to herself.
The chaos of routine-less days
in pyjamas until noon.
A slow creep towards the unregulated.
Order frames the day
like the view of the garden from a window,
but the bathroom mirror reflects
or combed hair.
What if they found her dead?
She was sure they’d think
she’d let herself go in such a short time.
But in truth she was going nowhere.
Content with seclusion
and the yoga of eating tuna out of cans
with her fingers,
the open-mouthed chew,
meditation on the three-day-old dishes
fermenting on the sink.
until the inevitable return
the office, management indecision
and the reams of paperwork
loading down her desk.
The gossip duplicated in the photocopying section.
What did you do in your break?
And her token smile
stapled to a Nothing much.
Rosanna Licari is an Australian writer and poet. She is the poetry editor of StylusLit.