Dali Land
A prose poem that captures the surreal and disorienting experience of a figure trapped within a Salvador Dali painting.
Clocks melt and dreams twist in this bizarre world where he stumbles forward; his feet sinking into sand that shifts like thoughts. The dunes rise and fall around him, as unpredictable as time itself.
The landscape feels oddly familiar yet completely alien, barren, and strange. Ants march in lines, each one lugging bits of forgotten memories, crawling across a warped face that somehow reflects both longing and pain.
Twisted branches stretch toward the sky, their shadows growing longer, morphing into shapes of old fears. They seem to grab at his limbs, like they're trying to drag him back into memories best forgotten.
Nearby, a pool of what looks like liquid sunshine ripples with untold secrets, reflecting his uncertain eyes. Not far off stands a solitary figure wrapped in a dark fabric, watching; some kind of guardian between dreams and nightmares, holding keys to doorways he can't see.
Oh, but each step feels so heavy, echoing against painted horizons and stubborn skies. Time drips by slowly here, and what's real blends into imagination—colors dancing, never settling, always changing, and impossible to pin down.
Somehow, through all this madness, he keeps moving. Something deep inside guides him through obstacles made of dreams, finding paths where there shouldn't be any, looking for peace in a world where nothing stays still long enough to hold, only to experience. It's a never-ending journey, somehow both trapped and flying free.
Author's Note
This year has felt like I’m in a Dali world. It actually started in early November of last year, but ramped up this year after my mother-in-law’s cancer diagnosis in January and death in late May. We held a celebration of her life three weeks ago.
The hits just kept coming!
On Wednesday, we learned that my husband's cousin (41) died suddenly. We are awaiting autopsy results, but as of this writing do not have a cause of death. His family is stunned. We are stunned. In the span of two months, my husband's uncle lost his sister and his son.
The day after that, we learned that our dog was bleeding internally from a tumor on her spleen and that the cancer had metastasized to her lungs. We euthanized her yesterday. We are heartbroken.
Overshadowing all this is a regime that challenges the core values of democracy, equality, and justice. Many in the immigrant community fled regimes like this. Every act of oppression feels like a loss; not just of rights, but of our shared humanity, threatening to diminish the core of who we are. As an immigrant and naturalized U.S. citizen, I am devastated.
I miss my mother-in-law. I miss my dog. I miss my country. It seems to me that I've shed more tears this year than any other time in recent years.
Then, this morning, I took a walk in the woods, breathed in the tree-cleaned air, with my tears fogging my glasses. I imagined my dog sniffing the squirrel and other rodent scent-paths around the trees, dragging her away as she found and munched on either deer or rabbit poop (why do dogs eat things we find disgusting?), and watching as she stalked a wild rabbit. I caressed the ferns and marveled at the tenacity of the woodland plants.
That walk helped clear my mind and reminded me that life moves in cycles. Every step echoed the rhythm of life—the changing seasons and the ebb and flow of tides. Breathing in the crisp air, I thought about flowers blooming in spring only to fade at summer's end, returning to the earth to nourish what’s next.
Much like trees shedding their leaves, life teaches us that endings are part of new beginnings.
My mother-in-law, with her joyful laugh and warm presence, now joins the gentle whispers of the wind, her spirit forever woven into my cherished memories.
My dog, once a lively shadow at my feet, now runs freely in peaceful fields, reminding me of the happiness that still fills my home.
As for my country, I think about the lives that have influenced my world and I am reminded that the fight for justice and equality is ongoing and requires me (all of us) to stay strong through tough times. My grief becomes a call to stand up and make a difference, to honor the spirit of those who fought before, and reclaim the freedoms that truly belong to us all.
Every love, every loss weaves a thread into the fabric of our lives. Mourning is a natural part of this cycle, proof of the deep love we have known. And even though the void can feel overwhelming, I believe that, just like the sun rises after a night, new beginnings will always come from the shadows of sorrow.
So somehow, through all this madness, I keep moving!
Upcoming…
A speculative fiction piece:
The Stingrays, 9 August 2025
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Im so sorry for all the heartache you are suffering Caro. I know, sometimes, grief and loss can feel overwhelming and I understand the struggle to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward. I hope what I’m about to say doesn’t come across as flippant or crass in any way but I was listening to a podcast a few years back, probably not long after 2016, and Tom Hanks was on it. He mentioned an expression he used about how people were coping with stress and trauma and it was, “This too shall pass.”
It’s simple and probably doesn’t feel true at the moment but it gives a wee bit of hope when all hope seems lost
My thoughts are with you and your family during these sad times 🙏
You share with such honesty, such liveliness! He tears, you understand, cleanse our wounded heart, and life goes on about its business of renewing. You are strong, and yet tender, you feel, and you share the pain, the wisdom gained. I loved this piece. Thank you for connecting, so beautifully, with all of us, in our grief, and our revival!