I Wrote Down a Dream Based on a Poem I Had About You

     Kelli Lage

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pocketing it before slithering sun could notice.

I wish I could breathe out

flower stalk residue you glued to my lungs.

It tugs on vocal chords

when drums of August

come pounding down hometown’s hill.

 

With a grin, I’d cry at cracked pottery and moonlit playgrounds.

With a newly freed wrist,

I’d carve out thickets claiming my hair;

becoming a wild branch.

 

I’d ask to meet you on the road behind Haven Stakes Park.

But if earth caught word,

it would slam my gas pedal.

Glass from your windshield

would coat a path to my bruised thighs.

I’d reach out, hand cracks still bloody,

only to see you fade into smoke you cough up.

River dam, too dry to hurl a sob.