Orbit / by Christina Rosalie

Tonight my orbit is the cat's purr; my finger's contact with the ENTER key, the space bar, alphabet twirling.

Tonight my orbit is my sick son, now asleep, before in tears simply because the day was too much.

Tonight my orbit is the roundness of my belly where kicks disrupt my thoughts, where space is at a premium now, and over which I pull new woolly sweaters.

Tonight my orbit is the circling of my thoughts, dogging each other, nose to tail; feeling like gradually I've lost touch with my creative self, allowed myself to sink deep into a dreamy no-mans land of day to day.

Tonight my orbit is the scattered disks thoughts about tomorrows plans; a thirst for fresh water, an eagerness for bed and a longing to feel right now, the warmth of my husband's skin.