Jun 2015
a list of things i keep having dreams about:
1. underwater. not drowning, but free to pull my head up towards the white, bubbling sunlight. my head pushes through but then it is night and i am in the lake, weighed down by white dress. men put hands on my shoulders, words murmured in rapid prayer. i am baptized but there is blood on my hands. and then those hands join with others and we dance around flame, murmuring together. we are are all arriving we are all arriving we are all arriving. i did not believe in dancing but i dance among the pagans and the black trees look like obsidian knives, jagged, pointing towards lady moonlight. and my face is aflame and my mother says my grandmother spins in her grave each time i pray to a god who is not of abraham but then i realize that i have become my own god and i pray only to myself. and then i am the one spinning and spinning and then i am the water again but it is deep blue like melted velvet and now hands do not pull me up do not pray for me they push down and this time i am drowning.
2. we are lying in bed. my sheets have little roses on them and the lamplight is warm and forgiving and i am in satin and you are in nothing and we kiss and touching you feels good again. and i sing Dylan to you and i guard you with my own heart. and my feet rest in swimming pools that reflect me into you and suddenly there is no me and no you there is just dimness and an airy room where you are showing me such love and tenderness with your lovely blood and bones and i clutch my necklace and wonder what this would feel like if it were a cross instead of a moon. i cry because this was all that i had left because i feel thirteen again like it's the first time i said i would wait until i had a husband and so that's why i say i will marry you yes my love yes because we must atone we must always. atone.
3. barefoot. running. muddy dress, american forest, it smells like home only different. smokier, damper, sadder. gunshot. i slip behind the reddish brown trunk of one of the giants living in the woods and breathe. breathe. scream. hands around my stomach, pull and tear, drag along wet red clay. barefoot. my dress is red and my face is red and my hair is a dark night sky for a single moon. they chant. **** the witch **** the witch **** the witch **** the witch. i was buried in a churchyard. i wake up feeling thirsty and needing to check my voicemail.
4. a thousand mirrors. like versailles, only not. my hands on your lapels. you are seven feet tall and you love me. your hair is wild and i am an enchantress in lavender. we dance to piano and mournful horn, a thousand miles away. i am two inches tall, but you love me like i am the new moon.
1. underwater. not drowning, but free to pull my head up towards the white, bubbling sunlight. my head pushes through but then it is night and i am in the lake, weighed down by white dress. men put hands on my shoulders, words murmured in rapid prayer. i am baptized but there is blood on my hands. and then those hands join with others and we dance around flame, murmuring together. we are are all arriving we are all arriving we are all arriving. i did not believe in dancing but i dance among the pagans and the black trees look like obsidian knives, jagged, pointing towards lady moonlight. and my face is aflame and my mother says my grandmother spins in her grave each time i pray to a god who is not of abraham but then i realize that i have become my own god and i pray only to myself. and then i am the one spinning and spinning and then i am the water again but it is deep blue like melted velvet and now hands do not pull me up do not pray for me they push down and this time i am drowning.
2. we are lying in bed. my sheets have little roses on them and the lamplight is warm and forgiving and i am in satin and you are in nothing and we kiss and touching you feels good again. and i sing Dylan to you and i guard you with my own heart. and my feet rest in swimming pools that reflect me into you and suddenly there is no me and no you there is just dimness and an airy room where you are showing me such love and tenderness with your lovely blood and bones and i clutch my necklace and wonder what this would feel like if it were a cross instead of a moon. i cry because this was all that i had left because i feel thirteen again like it's the first time i said i would wait until i had a husband and so that's why i say i will marry you yes my love yes because we must atone we must always. atone.
3. barefoot. running. muddy dress, american forest, it smells like home only different. smokier, damper, sadder. gunshot. i slip behind the reddish brown trunk of one of the giants living in the woods and breathe. breathe. scream. hands around my stomach, pull and tear, drag along wet red clay. barefoot. my dress is red and my face is red and my hair is a dark night sky for a single moon. they chant. **** the witch **** the witch **** the witch **** the witch. i was buried in a churchyard. i wake up feeling thirsty and needing to check my voicemail.
4. a thousand mirrors. like versailles, only not. my hands on your lapels. you are seven feet tall and you love me. your hair is wild and i am an enchantress in lavender. we dance to piano and mournful horn, a thousand miles away. i am two inches tall, but you love me like i am the new moon.
