spring clouds

I wandered lonely as a

woman wandering alone

amid the bustle of an exclusive life.


Beneath the stalks

stalk things unseen to me and mine,

the flat-feet


who blunder by,

leaving footprints, carbon and otherwise,

on the bodies of the unseen and unheard.


She wanders lonely,

even when she is not alone,

just on the other side of a comforting veil,


treading flat-footed,

hands over her ears

to keep out the screaming.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

22 thoughts on “Privilege”

    1. I just had a poem published on the Pendemic site and they sent me a message asking would I like to send this guy Andrew a letter. I read his story (you probably already knew about it)
      and had a look at his lad’s twitter account. Jesus, I couldn’t stop crying. Alone, that’s what he feels now. I’ll never give out at mine again.

  1. Loneliness that privilege conceals. If wonder if anyone will hear the screaming. I admire the start, a contemporary take on the start of Wordsworth’s poem. How it is to wander now.

    1. There are all sorts of ways of being alone, of deliberately ignoring what we’re walking on, as if nobody can see what we’re doing, hear what we’re saying. It’s not so easy as black/white, man/woman, rich/poor, but you can juggle with those parameters and end up with a combination that makes you relatively untouchable.

    1. I know. There can be no faces he cares about at all. It puts our little gripes into perspective, and our complaints at having to stay indoors. Imagine what staying indoors means for him. I can’t.

    1. There are endless ways of being alone too. Some are voluntary, the isolation of the well-fed, the safe from war, the healthy. Some are the abandoned and the used. We all have our secret shame, or at least, we should.

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