ISOLATION

I dreamed they moved the forest

as I watched from a window

never suspecting such impermanence;

scenery rolled like a stage set,

replaced by things more essential.

 

No trees, and in their stead rose

abodes of relentless brick

and from inside came starry toddlers,

women who looked through me,

hooded men with meagre histories.

 

I was irrelevant to them, hermetic

inside a questionable house,

breathing the memories of ancestors

who claimed they'd seen it all

but defunct as old encyclopaedias.

 

Fragmented Voices, June 2024, Editor Natalie Crick.

This was a difficult poem as it came from a dream and as we all know, dreams are not logical. So it was a hard job to find absolutely the right words in places and to unearth the buried meaning.