I Dream I'm a Painting

One night, several weeks into the pandemic, I dream that I'm a painting. I dream myself spreading out, becoming a square of yellow then a brushstroke of blue. It feels expansive, like swimming in the ocean. It is not unlike the suspended state that I find myself in during these days of quarantine. At no point in my life have I ever been more aware of time in the present tense. Without certainty about what will happen next, days go by and blend into each other. With the border closed, I cannot visit my children. There is a deeply unsettling awareness that the world has changed, and that in fact, it will never be the same, but somehow, there is also an open-endedness to the days of staying put. I collage endlessly, improvising fragments of torn paper into balanced states of unity. My mind goes deep inside itself and loosens. I drift and settle in.