Do you remember
the dream you had
some seventeen years ago
about saving the world with prose?
Intersectional towers of oppression
crumbling down
while you move through
crowded dance floors at night.
Maybe it felt lost
misplaced under stacks of bills
holding place in textbooks
or gave birth to something new
when you held the soft pink skin
of your daughter against your own
again and again.
Do you remember the dream
you had about your father
asking if you were ready
knowing the answer was no
or his standing silent
smiling everything will be alright at you
what would he say now?