How I used to dream:
Voices holding me,
Stigma of family
Wounds driving tears
Into palms.
The tree they hung me on
Pine, decorated for the season
In flashing lights and
Multiphonic tears.
You became as them
When, laughing, told me
Dreams good as dust.
But ashes are pure.
&& I found something
Almost real in
Brand New Dreams,
Bravery found outside
Your love.
When I am famous,
Will you write books?
Do talk shows? Tell everyone
You knew?
No comments:
Post a Comment