One mom drops her kids at camp today.
Her hair is up in two space buns.
Her lulu lemon leggings have cutouts down the thigh.
She says she’ll be back after yoga.
I try to hold back my judgement
when I check her ID at pickup
and her wallet spills open.
Countless credit cards
and three different
yoga studio memberships.
This camp costs her
$500 this week.
I’m wearing a shirt that says,
“best summer ever,”
and it feels like a lie.
This week’s theme is space.
We’ll have our star wars
space army any day now.
All the brown children
are in cages one the border,
without clean drinking water,
or sprawled out in front of the cops
with bullets in their bodies
and hands
perpetually in free fall
from above their heads.
Almost as if gravity too,
has failed them.
The white kids are coloring
pictures of aliens,
reading about astronauts,
and trying all the flavors
of space food
until their mom’s finish yoga
and shopping
and get out of their salon
appointments
a few minutes past
closing time,
but they’ll pay the overage charge…
“It’s only $1 a minute
and then we can all go home.”
I want to quit my job.
I want to rip my shirt off.
I cry my whole drive to therapy.

I am sitting
in the waiting room.
I see a lady spill her lunch
on her pencil skirt
and stilettos.
I help her clean it up
with my second-hand
embarrassment.
I feel so alone here.
In this scratchy blue chair
with the red swirly pattern.
I stare at the painting
on the wall and try to decide
what it is even a picture of.
I hate the weird off-white walls
for looking almost yellow
with age.
I watch the door
waiting for my therapist.
She is running three minutes late.
I am so lucky.
I forget
how temporary this discomfort is.
I forget that after I pay
for my hour to discuss
this painful life,
I can walk right out.
I can even ride the elevator
down alone.
I can walk out to my car
call my family for updates,
even pick up my favorite
Starbucks drink
on my way back 
to the job that pays
me well.
Anxiety like this
is something
dreamers can only
dream of.
How sad
that I forget,
sometimes.