Life slows down at home, I find
Like I had been sitting on the remote
Letting fast-forward run
Without realizing
Without rewind
The streets are empty past 8 p.m.
There are no late-night Jefe’s runs,
Uber Eats,
Or Ubers at all.
The garbage truck doesn’t come by in the morning,
And there are no
incessant alarm clocks
That aren’t your own.
It’s winter here now.
A dusting of snow coats the lawn
The birds have moved south
The frogs in the pond
are buried in the mud
Beneath the ice
I can’t remember everything that happened
These last three months
Did it even happen
If you can’t remember it?
My bedroom walls
The same bright yellow that I chose when
I was twelve.
The same floorboards squeak
The house still clicks and creaks
When the heat comes on.
The sun peaks low
The shadows are long
There is summer somewhere else
It’s just not our turn.
I don’t know if I want
The next two weeks to stay
Or pass in a blur
I think I’ll just let it play.
Andrew Morrissey ’26 (ajmorrissey@college.harvard.edu) just wandered into the Arts section.