By Ceinwen Haydon
Brought back inside
by airless thunderstorms –
sweat stings paths down her back,
delivers torture in her Covid prison.
Yesterday, her tiny garden basked
in sun’s rays, gave some comfort. Today
rain pelts down. She’s always losing
something from her life, always
there’s a price to pay. Her shrunken world
shrinks further. Through streaked panes
she watches at midday, as light wanes.
Iron clouds fret and crows ink tattoos
across tormented skies.
At length, she can endure no more –
in her living room, careless
of who might see, she strips. Finally
she casts aside black knickers and lace bra
and bursts on sturdy legs
through her back door –
she slides free on wet grass.
She screams, dances, curses, casts
lethal spells on abhorrent Tory boors –her neighbours
hear her voice, her strength,
take up her roar, demand emancipation.
Today’s storm breaks, unleashes revolution.
Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon MA Creative Writing, Newcastle University, UK, 2017
Ceinwen lives in Newcastle-upon-Tyne and writes short stories and poetry. She has been widely published online and in print magazines and anthologies.
@CeinwenHaydon
Love the thoughts! And the poem.