By Olena Jennings
I am dreaming that clothes are coming apart. There is a sudden need for needles and thread. There are buttons on the floor like seashells. We try to make the outdoors in our living rooms. I have a measuring tape around my neck. I have a single pin between my teeth. The outside comes in. I brace myself like for a wave.
I stick my head out the window, wearing fancy dresses
dressed for myself
in this isolation we live for ourselves
we have long conversations with mirrors
the past is almost erased
We forget what it was like to go out. The sun shines more often when I am home. It does so to tempt me. We establish a dialogue, the sun and I. I put out my bare arms.
I ask for the sun to warm me, for a careful caress. I learn to be touched by something so far away. I learn what distance really is.
My friends have also fallen into the landscape of their apartments. We whisper to each other. We stick our ears out the window and attempt to hear a voice.