I woke up in a forest

by Sean Chapman

Cover Image by Michael Yull 

I woke up in a forest

by Sean Chapman

Published April 9, 2021

I woke up in a forest. Unsure

of the knotted skin of tall trees

and what ground lay beneath me.

I handled the meal of the forest floor,

the soft clay joined the lattice

of my skin; resting in lines

and in the undergrowth of my nails

—blue and metallic with the night.

 

Without image or memory; amongst

the labyrinth of leaf and branch—

without a lake to peer into and instil a life

I could only palm my features

and try to remember a nose

or soft lips that once may have kissed

something not of forest or nightly existence.

Sean Chapman

Sean Chapman is a British writer living in Cornwall beside the capricious Atlantic Ocean and amongst the blur of a Whippet and a Labrador. His past lives have included working in a Taiwanese astrophysics department, a Manchester disability support office, on a Salford mental health ward and running a rum bar on the Liverpool docks before washing ashore in a Cornish surf shop. Between daydreams of cowboy adventures and surfing escapades he writes poems, which have appeared or are forthcoming in Marble Poetry, Raceme, Squawk Back, Prole, Fenland Poetry Journal, Quince, Nymphs, The Opiate, Allegro, Montana Mouthful and others. 
 
He can be found on Twitter: @seanchapman_1

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