Pandemic Fugue
Prompt response: Liminal landscapes
sometimes it’s hard to know whether i’m awake or dreaming — not like living the dream but caught in a fugue state — a fog of unreality (if you will) or a muted soul on pause.
why do i keep bothering to write when words fall silent and imagery fades from relevancy in a nanosecond and forever friends have become mere acquaintances — though i’m trying to emerge from the fright — least now i attempt to smile and apply a little eye-contact as i walk on by.
i used to make others feel at ease — now my silence, perhaps, is seen as a disease — only i think that i am not the one ill but more realized — my silence — an objection — like invisible duct tape across the lips and a piercing look that penetrates your insides.
there’s no going back for me. no forgetting what i’ve seen. as bars and restaurants repopulate — with a vengeance — i look upon my species as being nearly obsolete and so terribly off-beat —
we’ve eroticized exercise
glorified body narcissism
lost the keys to unlock sensuality
let alone an honest exchange
and i feel so goddamned bored
almost all of the time
is it just me
who longs for a euphoric touch — an embrace of the eyes — a pinch that makes me feel alive? when love goes dormant for too long the heart goes numb. no feeling. no shockwave back. just… flatlined______________.
Breathe & Be Still ©2023
This poem is in response to Melissa Coffey’s prompt: Liminal Landscapes. I love the world “liminal” and the condition of being caught between intra-psychic states — a condition that can be tormenting at times but also fecund for the imagination.
I think where I ended up with this poem is the liminal/fractured space of post-pandemic life which is still very much a tale of trauma and a death of some kind (perhaps a death of many kinds).
A very special thanks to J.D. Harms and Melissa Coffey, the editors of Scrittura, for keeping the creative gears spinning and helping me get beyond the rough drafts.
