Prison

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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