Literature
who i can be
i still have a dream of one day
growing into these unfurling expectations
of somehow, one morning, i shall unravel myself
from these worn-soft sheets and my pillow-nest
where for yet another moon
i have curled tightly around only myself
to waken as a creature, more beautiful than dawn itself:
and i shall tumble, tussled and tired,
with sleep stretching her arm to snatch me back
to her blissful embrace,
settling bones within skin, toes upon floor,
reaching for ceiling, for sky, for things once unobtainable
-- and for the first time i have ever known
there they shall be. i still dream of this:
when what i hope i can be suddenly fa