DREAM INTERPRETER
The tea-colored water of swamps
is jewel clear and body warm
Standing in the crotch of cypress trees
I can look down to leaf-shagged bottom
and see my dead tugged past
by currents too weak to grind corn
Longing is enough to keep us alive
but we'll never molt or blow our bud
until we stop waiting for the woman
who holds us at arm's length
Murder your daydreams, lever down
the henges. See what pushes up
in next April's mud.
© Maggie Jochild, 19 December 2010, 7:13 p.m.
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