Quarantine Journal Day 27 by Sarah Zhang (15, Philippines)

Every nook glimpsed into 
now brings unfiltered glee. 
Every day, the walls inch 
closer, the smell of nothing 
carries all with it. Summer 
storms fold like raw wool. ​

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Seeds from cracks extend 
green arms. Heads drop like 
rocks, our dreams sifts away 
with the fresh breeze from 
the AC. The mundane blows 
in the way an old tree bears 
fresh fruit. Birthed from the 
oak floorboard is a wooden 
spider. Life will still for him, 
but the windows and doors 
haven’t opened in ages since 
a safehouse is a spider’s trap, 
room with nothing to know. 
He won’t know that by day 
break, his web will be 
emptier than split eyes.

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