What he takes from her dream

theft12

Mad alleys,

grasses between, lay beside

the horses of her quietness.

Dark men, black nights

creep through, stealing old shoes,

broken light bulbs from her discards.

 

She runs wild toward

the back porch light,

thinking she has escaped.

Adrenalin pumps through

the grasses of in-between like

fire razing home.

 

She doesn’t know she has run.

 

There was a man

right behind her,

she felt the hair of his forearm

whisk across her agony,

speed through lesions

of light, speckling dark away.

She does not know the man.

 

He steals from her garbage.

 

There is absolutely nothing that they can take from us that is really still ours.

All of our fear, all of our holding on, all of our agonizing over what they will take means nothing–for they can take nothing from our dreams. Our dreams belong to us and cannot be taken by anyone, ever.

They can take nothing that isn’t already our garbage.

 

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s