10-13-2015, 02:31 AM
In Come Free
My head knows what a body is
language for, but my hands
strangle the vocabulary. How to write
this dream?
I work my fingers raw in the mud
making bricks. I stack each brick
until I build a wall, and behind it
a familiar voice there calls.
I make a door, and hear
that someone knocks, then his voice
is calling. Calling me out to play. I am a child
again. I step outside to find myself
within a game of “hide ‘n seek”--
my brother calling to me
“all-ee, all-ee, in come free”
from the other side of the wall.
But the door is now gone.
Why do I wake up sweating?
Why have I had this dream
again? Why have I never cried
since you died?
In Come Free
My hands know what a body is
language for, but my fingers
strangle the vocabulary. How to write
this dream?
I work my hands raw in the mud
making bricks. I stack each brick
until I build a wall, behind which
a familiar voice calls.
I make a door, and hear
someone knock, then his voice
calling. Calling me out to play. I am a child
again. I step outside to find myself
within a game of “hide ‘n seek”--
my brother calling to me
“all-ee, all-ee, in come free”
from the other side of the wall.
But the door is now gone.
Why have I had this dream
again? Why do I wake up
sweating? Why have I never
cried
since you died?
My head knows what a body is
language for, but my hands
strangle the vocabulary. How to write
this dream?
I work my fingers raw in the mud
making bricks. I stack each brick
until I build a wall, and behind it
a familiar voice there calls.
I make a door, and hear
that someone knocks, then his voice
is calling. Calling me out to play. I am a child
again. I step outside to find myself
within a game of “hide ‘n seek”--
my brother calling to me
“all-ee, all-ee, in come free”
from the other side of the wall.
But the door is now gone.
Why do I wake up sweating?
Why have I had this dream
again? Why have I never cried
since you died?
In Come Free
My hands know what a body is
language for, but my fingers
strangle the vocabulary. How to write
this dream?
I work my hands raw in the mud
making bricks. I stack each brick
until I build a wall, behind which
a familiar voice calls.
I make a door, and hear
someone knock, then his voice
calling. Calling me out to play. I am a child
again. I step outside to find myself
within a game of “hide ‘n seek”--
my brother calling to me
“all-ee, all-ee, in come free”
from the other side of the wall.
But the door is now gone.
Why have I had this dream
again? Why do I wake up
sweating? Why have I never
cried
since you died?