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A poem about doomscrolling, nervous-system triage, and eating a cream-cheese-loaded bagel while the world burns—because being human is horrifying, sacred, and absurd.

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War & Bagels Before 9:47 a.m.

by Shelly Moore

.

Snow falls outside my window—

icy, deliberate fractals

blanketing,

muffling,

muting.

.

But when I open

the tiny portal

in my hand—

everything

is burning.

.

Floodwaters of panic,

stacked

stacked

stacked

until breath becomes

difficult.

.

Dread

piped directly

into the bloodstream.

.

Chest aches.

Pulse quickens.

Tears fall.

.

It’s

too much.

.

So I

medicate. 🌱

.

Loosen the fist

around my lungs,

close the damn

portal,

breathe

and remember

in this moment—

this exact moment—

I am safe.

.

I press my face

into the scruff

of my dogs’ necks,

inhale

the animal certainty

of now.

.

I hold my children.

.

Stand quietly

as if stillness

might ripple outward.

.

As if nervous systems

can speak to each other

without words.

.

As if calm

is highly contagious.

.

Then

I crush

my second bagel

thick

with cream cheese—

two flavors,

because I am able to.

.

All before 9:47 a.m.

.

Because

I am just

a person

and

fuck it.

•

•••

If you enjoyed this poem, you’ll love my poem, “Spectrum of Our Reality”

Click here to read it. 📚

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