vulnerability
By Brandy Underwood
I wrote this poem not long after quarantine became a part of my everyday vocabulary. March 20, 2020, was my last day of work for two months. I have lived in Las Vegas almost my entire life, and to see the Las Vegas Strip close down, the epicenter of our city was devastating. On that day I walked the halls of an empty casino. I could still hear the machines making noise even though they were turned off, muscle memory in full effect. I was bewildered. Life was unsettled and for the first time in my life, I did not know what to do.
Thoughts raced through my head, wondering if I needed to get another job because mine is in the hospitality industry. Travel is a lucrative element to a destination city, but not if that destination is on lockdown. Hotels are not considered essential. I didn’t see the skills I have equating to the paycheck I needed to survive. In my mind, I potentially had lost everything.
When we began lockdown, my daughter had just received news that she would be attending Las Vegas Academy of the Arts in the fall. She had auditioned in January, and when speaking with her you would think she had won the lottery. She couldn’t wait for her first day of being a freshman. Her determination was not squashed though.
I went back to work on May 18, 2020. I waited eagerly for my life to return to normalcy. For a couple of months it seemed to be okay, and yet the rug got pulled from under my feet again. My job code and title were expendable. I was under a lot of duress, and the only thing I could think about was my daughter’s vulnerability and how I had to find the determination to let her know that it would be okay in the end.
Unknowingly, she showed me that there was more to life than what I saw. We made every night game night, whether it be a board game or a game on the Xbox, we started cooking and baking, and having dinner together. All of these things became staples in our everyday life. The resolution to the pandemic was to be a family. As Christmas nears, I know she wants nothing more than to return to school and I want nothing more than to see her perform.
vulnerability
pitter-patter
that’s what parents call it
the sound of little feet
learning how to walk
like those of a caterpillar
falling without caution
she learns to clumsily run
across any surface
balance noticeable
as she navigates a sea
of obstacles, unequivocally
placed for her benefit
the march soon follows
her confidence gaining
momentum; her personality
shining as she learns
how to move and dance in her
own feet, all to her own song
the trudge proposes hesitation
changing from innocence to
uncontainable curiosity
a world so expansive, even I
am unable to navigate
we face the world, parallel
her quiescence is more
prominent than I would have
imagined—she withdraws from me
cocoons herself with friends
because the world stopped
without her knowledge
she could no longer see
the stage took a backseat
as well as the mat at the gym
her singing stopped, and her voice
no longer cut through the silence
the absence of physical contact
emotions left her silent
confused, and she harvested
her thoughts in this transitional state
not understanding exactly what
“pandemic” means, just knowing that
to some degree, her life ended
as she embarks to high school
her hard-outer shell is slowly breaking
as she prepares to fly
to where she doesn’t know
but she has plans
as she waits
to hug her friends,
to have a sleepover,
to sing on a stage,
to tumble at gymnastics,
everything that became inactive
when her metaphasis became masked
she is my butterfly
embracing the world around her
enduring hope and change,
she is beautiful
carrying a spirit so vulnerable
and yet equally profound.
Photo/Brandy Underwood.
Brandy Underwood is in pursuit of a BA in English at Nevada State College, with a minor in Creative Writing, where she is the Secretary of the Blue Sage Writer's Guild. She primarily writes horror fiction. In her spare time, she loves to watch movies, travel, and go to concerts.
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