My Daughter Quarantined in the Basement

daughter I can’t see    daughter once of padlocked diary stickered with hearts

sewing machine given by my mother    of bundled yarn

embroidery hoop    she cross-stitches in blue Fuck this shit

of springform pan    daughter of 3-layer chocolate cakes

with meticulous design    daughter wishing for a separate life

for space from me    as she should at 17

yet she is sick    and I can’t touch her    and how I wish

I had a baby monitor    as I go to sleep each night not knowing

and outside winter is turning    the squirrels are brash and ravenous

like last spring    will this one be furiously green    are all seasons now

exaggerated versions of themselves    this winter such pure dark

Are you writing about this?    my girl snapchats me from the basement

among our dirty laundry    boxes of baby sleepers    stringed

Christmas lights    I picture her lying on the floor

curled in blankets    with the stuffed hedgehog she took down

for comfort when she found out she tested positive    and all

I wish is that I could place my palm over her forehead

check for fever    set a cool washcloth on her face    hold her

on my lap    spin a pink bulb of  Tylenol between her lips