An Afternoon with Sofía

A poem about productivity.

Christian left, and I devoured the second half of my decadent chocolate old-fashioned donut. I proceeded to watch an episode of Netflix’s most riveting show. For the first time in a while, I couldn't hear the voice in my head nagging, “You should be cleaning, studying, organizing, exercising…” Instead, Sofía’s yearning for her father’s forgiveness overpowered any hint of a murmur from “helpful” Charlotte. 

The fever gods – sympathetic to my runny nose and the tower of boxes of tissues beside me – granted me the permission to indulge. So the five-second countdown appeared in the bottom right corner of the TV, and I didn’t stop it. Next episode. Next episode. 

Next episode. That happened a few more times, until I sprang upright and flung my blanket to the side with force. I watched it fly across the living room, over the coat hanger, and under the ceiling fan… landing perfectly in its home, surrounded by fellow blanket friends of different shapes and sizes.

After a treacherous and taxing swim in the terrible ocean, poor Sofía realized she had exchanged vows with the wrong brother. She begged me to keep watching, crying for my help, yearning into the darkness. How would she find the strength to confront Tomás without me? 

But alas, it was time to power off 

the TV, reclaim my 

life, brush my 

teeth, and make my 

bed.

I stood up, only to find 

the bed already made, dishes cleaned, laundry folded, and the flashcards prepped on the coffee table. 

It must have been Sofía.