Last night I dreamt

Of incarceration.

I was locked in a room

With some other people.

White walls, barred window.

We heard sounds.

Someone was coming.

“Shh”, I said,

Creeping through the floor

As snakes do.

The door opened and

We saw our keepers.

Three tickets to freedom

Were given to the others.

They looked like those old ones,

Made of thick paper,

We bought years ago

To get on former trains.

But there was no ticket left

For me.

I had to stay.

And I received, instead,

Three cookies with sugar.

You’d better eat them,

I told myself,

Who knows what will come.

What crime had I committed?

Was my life to be sugared

With no freedom at all?

Perhaps I would be

Like one of those women

I saw at an art exhibition.

Prison artists.

Showing their truth

And their dreams.

Changing their prisoner’s ball

Tied to their feet,

For a delicious watermelon.


© December 2018 Marta Pombo Sallés

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39 thoughts on “Prison

  1. I just filled the cookie jar with oatmeal cookies last night. I asked the wife, what should I do with the few sugar cookies left at the bottom, She said to leave them, for the children. Children love sugar cookies.

    I would never send you sugar cookies in that place. I would send a cake, with a file in it, like in the cartoons. And that file would work, gaining you your freedom. I just know it.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Wow, what a lovely comment, Michael! If only that file in the cake would work to set our Catalan political prisoners free as well as any other unjustly imprisoned people by authoritarian regimes, that would be miraculous. Remember, for instance, Gandhi’s many hunger strikes while imprisoned; the same is happening now with our Catalan political prisoners:


  2. The picture and your poem marry each other. They bring back so many memories of Europe. White walls, old fashion thick paper tickets to ride the trains, sugar cookies and watermelons. Simple triggers reminds me of a simpler time. I’m awake and I am dreaming all because of a beautiful poem. I know it holds a deeper meaning but for a moment I melted into its innocence.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Lavanya. This poem is actually based on a dream I had some time ago, so there is a lot of the subconscious mind, perhaps trying to make the horror less evil. What I have written is literally what I dreamt plus the last lines inspired from an art exhibition of women prisoners.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I love this narrative drama!! 😊 We are literally in a prison, but we leisurely munch sugared cookies.This is like the man who was threatened by death from three sides yet still felt ecstatic for seeing a honey comb hanging above him. 🙂 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I hope this is just a dream.
    Do understand, atleast I hope, the metaphor of prison.
    True freedom will only come when there is true equality. Till then we have hope.

    P. S. Your posts are not showing up on my reader. I had to go and look for it on your web site. It is frustrating.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, that is exactly it! Thank you for this great analysis. If you did not see this post on your WordPress reader perhaps there could be something wrong with my WordPress settings. I will ask a friend.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you again, Chris. This poem is the literal account of a dream I had before our peaceful Catalan pro-independence leaders were imprisoned, before the so-called “Spanish democracy” removed its mask and began to show more Francoist authoritarian traits that have evolved into more oppression for all of us. A premonitory dream?

      Liked by 1 person

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