Her Dreams Are Normal



It's a cold day.

My city feels wounded by

The light rain that falls.

On days like this,

She would ask me to open

A window. We would listen to

The pelting on the tin roof across our

Apartment. The light that came in showed

The bruises on her legs from where

Pleasure fell off its trapeze at two a.m.

We would fall asleep in each other's embrace,

Waking from an image of a child tugging at his mother’s breasts with baby soft lips, Waiting for the milk of life to fill him.

Her dreams are normal—

A dog, a home, children.

I wake up, and look

around the room for

that child wearing scuffed cowboy boots,

playing with his sister’s naked Barbie doll.