Waking from a nightmare is a triumph of sorts—an escape from terror. Waking to a nightmare is terror itself. “Prisoner Z” conjures a dystopian world that exists today in countries we can name. Is this a dream narrative? A warning? Is it both? Image by image, the poem reminds us how suddenly our lives could change.
—Jody Bolz, Poetry Editor
PRISONER Z
I have come back to my own
Life now—or now my life
Has come back to me with ink
On its finger. Above Avenue 7
Protesters are being shot. And the radio
Stations have been off-air since
They came under rocket and
Arson attack after the coup.
Now a trumpet, and blasts of
Footsteps, though nothing visible
Comes to save me and to
Carry me down the staircase,
Saying, But who are you, coming? Now
Throwing yourself into a panic?
Tonight the trains are slipping
Past with their lights off. My name
Is pulled under and doesn’t recognize
Me anymore. My name, like
An invisible sleep rolled up under
A tree at the side of the building
With darkness hammering for
Hours. My name, arriving
Tomorrow to cast a ballot,
At night is punctuated by
Gunfire and explosions. The
Marginalized, the dazed, clap
And sing, and the opposition
Candidates boycott the public
Square. I have seen this
Piece of theater before
But will not withdraw from
The race, nor startle
Awake to ask, Where am I?
David Biespiel is the author of twelve books, including the forthcoming volume, Beautiful Is the World: New and Selected Poems, 1996-2026.
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