Disorientation

You swear that north is south, claim
the sun sits at the pole,
that north-facing rooms are warmer
in Edinburgh.

From my south-facing room,
I watch you lose your grip
bit by bit.

You sleep through eclipses,
mistake satellites for shooting stars,
put your wishes into orbit -
never to come true.

When will you look up
and see the truth -
that north is north
and cold for it?

Juliet Wilson