When the fan is on,
my bedroom becomes a seaside.
My worries are still.
I’m not afraid of touching a doorknob
or what I may find when I turn it.
I don’t chase windmills.
The night sky finds me
and beckons me to recognize its grandeur.
There’s room to breathe.
There’s room to believe it’ll get better.
The air clears the fog.
It’s not a beginning. It’s not an end.
It’s a state of being and becoming,
of not giving in, of not giving up.
But that’s hard to do when the morning comes,
and the fan is off. The new day isn’t so new.
The same apprehensions arise, and I want to rise,
so I keep a seashell on top of my night table as a reminder.
Every morning, I breathe into it
my troubles and dreams,
and they flow freely
A Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net-nominee, Elaine Nadal is the author of two poetry chapbooks: When and Sweat, Dance, Sing, Cut, published by Finishing Line Press. Her work has appeared in several journals, including Beyond Words Literary Magazine, Haunted Waters Press, Hoot Review, Grasslimb, and Latino Book Review Magazine.