[eng] Carolina Larrain Pulido - Chesham Place

This is not my voice, it is hers.

It’s her noble rundown voice,
a fearful voice among sealed walls.

She’s surrounded by inanimate objects,
they’re her only company.   

A computer escapes the stillness of the room,
she spills her lockdown self into it every day.

She discharges her noble self one key at a time,
the motherboard sweetly swallows her pain

Her thoughts are often concealed by a urine infection,
It absorbs everything in her room. 

Her walls steal her thoughts from her urine infection, 
those walls have become a living shrine filled with pictures of loved ones. 

She’s become a talented writer honing her words into powerful phrases, 
intense phrases nobody will ever read.

She’s afraid she’ll wake up dead,
her thoughts become nightmares as she sleeps.

She’s afraid nobody will know she’s dead, 
the nightmares continue every morning.

Her solitude has become comfort,
her solitude has become a cell. 

Her U.T.I. resists and hounds her bladder, kidneys and urethra,
She wakes up feeling the urine tract infection pierce her body.

She wishes she didn’t wake up,
She avoids waking up.

Nobody comes, 
nobody is coming.

Silence takes over the room as she holds onto her breath,
temperature falls.

Her motherboard sneers,
the voices of all of us in it scream.

Her motherboard is powerful,
overloaded with faces of people she’s never met.
A friend and a feud, 
the screen dares her to write once again. 

As friends and feuds,
she unknowingly types us in day after day.
She’s become alive again,
typing defies death.

As she wakes up she wonders if she’s alive, 
typing proves she’s not lifeless in her room.

A rush of pain assaults her bladder, 
she’s sure she’s awake. 

She knows there’s another day to muddle through,  
24 hours, 1.440 minutes and 86.400 seconds of potential grief. 

She knows counting time harms her,
she does it every day.

Writing desiccates her,
she does it every day.

It’s been worse since the lockup,
But it’s another day. 

One thousand four hundred and forty minutes,
eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds.

She remembers, this is not my voice, it is hers.

* Carolina Larrain Pulido

Curious and open-minded traveller, filmmaker, photographer and writer. An advocate for critical consciousness, justice, equality, fairness, freedom and unorthodox thinking leading to global change. She doesn’t believe in one objective truth, loves dialogue and hates neoliberal culture. Carolina can generally be found marginally pushing the boundaries of the mainstream. 

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