Last night, I dreamed that I went to church.
When I arrived, the pews were full.
I gazed at the mass of solemn, expectant faces.
I found a seat in the corner, some distance from the crowd
but was called up nonetheless.
They pronounced my name wrong
yet I did not correct it.
Fixing a tiny microphone to my collar, the vicar said:
‘I believe you will explain the trajectory of the virus for us’.
I searched briefly for a defence
against this ludicrous expectation
but could find none.
Accepting a cup of fairly traded tea,
I began to speak.
Michele is based in the United Kingdom and her writing has appeared in a variety of anthologies and other publications. Since March 2020, she has written more than 90 poems about the lockdown experience. She is an active member of Leicester Writers’ Club.
100 Words Of Solitude 