I put up a Do Not Disturb Sign. I considered buying

 a portable desktop scanner, confronting the phobias

 in the basement. My project:
 

I wasn’t sure, but likely it would not involve the art

of decluttering, the issue of whether the turquoise

t-shirt, its row of tiny songbirds, sparks joy, 

would not revolve around a bag of holey socks,

 the portable sewing kit I purchased

 at the Dollar Store.
 

Maybe I would spend my days making a raised bed —

not for growing vegetables but an actual bed

with a flowery, bee-glutted duvet. 

Or, because sometimes being stuck at home

makes you want to climb the walls,

perhaps my quarantine project 

would require roof jugs, t-nuts, self-drilling screws.

Maybe there’s something to be made

from all these broken umbrellas: 

a wacky, wiry bouquet. Maybe my project

will become clear once I understand

the glass brain found at Herculaneum,
 
how it’s possible that inside Neptune
 
it’s raining diamonds.

We’re running a Coronavirus poem once a week, after a call for submissions. You can read more information, and a listing of the poems, here.