Dear House,                 

 

You have been my padded-cell.

My suburban hospital.

I never knew you before.

 

I tested positive.

The Virus - the Darkness – came.

Your walls could not stop the fever, the breathlessness.

Less expected – the disorientation and sense of isolation.

My illness trapped me in just three rooms - Bedroom, Bathroom, Kitchen.

I had to observe each object in my surrounds during those drawn-out days.

Their beauty, simplicity and curves.

Reflections and shadows from the bars of your windows.

The encroaching black forming pockets of stranded light.

 

Months have passed.

My recovery drags on - many were less fortunate.

I now wish is to capture the stark memory of what I saw and felt in those deathly days.

The choice of items – for medical function – others for their form in aiding my mental return.

My re-discovery of the curved beauty in the ordinary.

Distorted compositions recalled from during my airlessness.

Some edges bleeding into the blurry-eyed dark.

The visual metaphor of the consuming Darkness – the Virus.

Isolation seen in occasional glimpses of window bars.

My 3 rooms were my oasis.

The Bedroom – spirals of medical devices and medicines.

The Bathroom – curves of white enamel alongside hygiene, safety and hydration essentials.

The kitchen – window-lit elliptical basics ticking away the slow return to mobility.

House – they are my homage to you for a safe passage.

A story told on behalf of 1 million others.