Quarantine Dreams

Angela M. Acosta

 

While living in isolation

My unconscious mind hums,

Spinning me images of body heat,

Laughter, joy, visits with friends.

In the dead of night

I tune into soporific background conversations

At the grocery store bakery,
The climbing wall, and the Atlanta airport.

Like an eager linguist,

I listen to babbled words, parsing out sounds

As children point out breakfast cereals.

Insignificant interactions become

Radio waves of missed connections.

Imagination turns daytime computer screens

Into nocturnal fireworks of memories,

Celebrating bursts of happiness that are

Always just out of reach.

Faces blur into anonymity,

But I still see the dailyness

Of eating lunch at work,

The last meal before quarantine.

Before I wake,

Gregarious reunions become bittersweet nostalgia.

Colors blur into unconscious oblivion,

I sense a rise in my cortisol levels.

A question lingers:

Do masks protect me in my dreams?