by Alison Stone
An only child’s a receiver of dreams.
Is the boy flushed from sun? Fever? Dreams?
Two shawls she brought from the old country. Three
dresses, red ribbon, a meat cleaver, dreams.
Love opens wounds, turns us children. Which spouse
is worse, honest drunk or deceiver? Dreams’
code -- Bees signify sex, a desk means fear.
It’s lucky to meet a beaver in dreams.
The orange pill offers chance of a cure.
Granter of time. Retriever of dreams.
My grandmother sews with thread in her mouth.
I burn herbs to Maya, weaver of dreams.
Lost selves visit at night. The king’s a slave,
the slacker an overachiever in dreams.
Call me scarred optimist, fool who should
know better. Battered believer in dreams.
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