Penned July 2019
I dreamt of you. Twice this week. The first time we’ve spoken since we were children. Why were you angry?
We traced the edges of the pond. You plucked mulberries off the tree. They could have been poison, I still would have swallowed.
My wall of paper cutouts, women with golden hair and sky eyes. I fell asleep to their smiles. The first time you met them, you asked me why.
Your blue truck I could always find outside the place I would not enter. I hid in the truck bed, waiting for your prayers to finish. Could you save me?
The last time we danced, the sky opened.
You left, slowly.