I wake, even and ready for the day.
My phone trills—like a pet, greeting.
A thumb, a swipe, and friends rush in.
A scroll unravels, miles and miles of friends, acquaintances, and looser connections still,
and I drink in their news, their joy, their uncertainty,
their thoughts, and their day’s hopes.
My fingers tap across the screen as I spill my own morning quandaries into the world and then—
a swell of reactions, laughter, jokes, and solidarity
shouting out that I am seen, felt, and heard!
The swell of connection carries me through my morning on a high tide of bliss,
wondering how anyone who lived in the before times managed
the distance between friends and loved ones
without the pure simplicity of pocket-sized accessibility.
Afternoon comes, and
notifications taper.
So little activity, though I refresh.
Low tide, low spirits.
And I wonder if I’ve said something wrong
or if I alone lack purpose beyond my screen.
Still, I scroll—
but nothing changes.
Evening comes and with it a flutter of activity—a spark of controversy that has all atwitter
A piece of news we chew together, rage in sync, in delicious solidarity.
Likes and loves, resentment of a common oppressor.
We surf the wave of emotion together—
posting, sharing, performing for ourselves and each other.
I eat dinner with my thumb on a hot screen in anticipation of the inevitable BING!
And the warmth is tangible, swelling around me like an embrace.
I feel at one with so many.
I post.
Strong words, strong feelings.
Fifteen minutes of silence pass by,
and then . . .
a surge of terror.
Did anyone read what I said?
Do they care?
My vulnerability is exposed
to the void.
The void is silent.
Silence is worse than anything.
I put my phone away and pick up a pen.
I sketch like I used to sketch as a child.
I change the pen for a book, and I read.
Soon, I’m tired, ready for bed, but I see
a red light blinking—a light that perhaps
can wait until tomorrow to claim me.
Multiple Choice Question
Read the final stanza of the poem.
I put my phone away and pick up a pen.
I sketch like I used to sketch as a child.
I change the pen for a book, and I read.
Soon, I’m tired, ready for bed, but I see
a red light blinking—a light that perhaps
can wait until tomorrow to claim me.
What can BEST be inferred from this stanza?
A.
The speaker is less tempted by social media when she is very busy with other things.
B.
The speaker likes to sleep and is not willing to stay awake even to check her tempting notifications.
C.
The speaker recognizes that she needs to separate from social media in order to recharge.
D.
The speaker feels dread that social media will be waiting to claim her in the morning.
1 answer
The best inference from the final stanza of the poem is:
C. The speaker recognizes that she needs to separate from social media in order to recharge.
This inference is supported by the speaker's choice to put away her phone and engage in activities like sketching and reading, indicating a conscious effort to disconnect from social media for her well-being before going to bed.
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