Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad
Day 37

be
careful
what you
wish for, really.
At first it was fun –
a welcome escape from the drudgery of routine.
It is now day thirty-seven, and I flap like a disoriented moth
against the ever-growing barriers of an invisible
void, that seals me in.
Spider webs drape
the lattice
of
isolation.

Outside,
camellias
quietly shed
in crop circles,
their scent a wistful reminder
of the carefree days of the year before.
On the balcony of the house across the road, an old man stands
mannequin-still, his eyes frozen to glassy moons.
I hold his gaze for
the first time
in years,
hands
twitching.