Marc Latham’s latest Folding Mirror poem resides in the greenygrey area between fantasy and reality; our place in it and others’ perceptions of our place in it.
Before we are born we may be the fantasies of our parents, and after we die our lives and images may become the fantasies of those who shared our lives and the descendents who never meet us.
Even in life, much of our lives are a fantasy to most people; who only know a little about our reality, and may make up the rest themselves.
And to yourself, the ‘real’ world can seem like a fantasy, where you don’t feel you have any control over your life and environment. What is hidden beyond bureaucracy, walls and horizons is imagined by the mind.
Here’s the poem:
Between Times of Fantasy
In your mother’s dreams and belly
babyhood being smelly.
Unremembered times of laughter
burping after each eating disaster.
Your experiences learned
in photos and tales.
Reality within dreams and memories
Your story pieced together
jumbled jigsaw dialogue.
School tomfoolery and work folklore
friends recall once more.
You’re not present
to witness descendents create your epitaph.