In the dream I had last night,
you appeared in the hallway of my old house.
We had not spoken in a year,
just as we have not spoken in a year
in this life.
And I was so thankful to see you.
Relieved, like when you can exhale
after holding your breath for too long.
And I told you that you should have
called and why didn’t you call
but you didn’t speak, as if there was some law against it.
And then later we pulled back my childhood bed,
moved it away from the wall
and there was a fire under it,
just a little smoldering thing,
hot coals like cherries
ready to pop
but also broken doll heads,
broken glass jars
filled with dying plants,
bent rusted nails
Venus fly traps,
a mason jar of dirty water
pens and paper and ink and paint
and hot wet melting crayons
and right then I knew it was a dream
and that in just a moment from now,
I will wake, and we will still be in the midst of this tiny revolution.
11 hours ago