Wild Cherry Tree And A Squirrel

I feel numb broken and lifeless

I lay still in bed

My legs have turned into 

large trunks of a wild cherry tree

My room feels snug and safe

The dark drapes of curtains of plush mauve

are half-drawn to allow some sunshine

Skies seem gloomy with auburn tinge

death is roaming across the street 

My son sleeps next to me

curled into a creamy yarn ball

reminds me of a young squirrel.

borders closed hustling cities mourn

I think about next door elderly lady

Roses and daisies, the house number is 6

Through the large window panes in my bathroom

I always see her sipping tea stretched out

in the erratic afternoons by her swing.

No bread. No eggs. 

All  the supermarkets are empty

His lips curve letting out a heavenly smile

My son is only 8 months old.