I wondered, only not out loud…
Dorothy’s unrecorded journal entry, 15th April, 1802.
You’ll make believe you ambled solo,
your head immersed in cumulus,
impersonating Marco Polo
or trailing Moses’ exodus.
We’d not have done that second lap
if you had checked the Lakeland map.
You overestimate the flowers
that line the edges of the bay.
Nor did we stare at them for hours:
the opium made it seem that way.
You won’t give them another thought
unless I pen a full report.
Is there such bliss in isolation,
considering the path less trod?
A woman, too, enjoys creation:
we all are equal, viewed by God,
and daffodils do more than dance –
I’ll demonstrate: give me a chance.
Recapturing your great elation
couched in idyllic reverie?
Cease narcissistic contemplation
and pause to wonder: could it be
that in this scrapbook scrawl of mine
frustration screams from every line?