Interpretation of Dream(s)

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By Amelia Pikovsky

Last night I dreamt you loved me.

Were you coming or going?

I could never tell.

From that smile—

like a fork in the road

that runs you down

on either path.

From that mouth—

with its sharp edges, folding me like so;

bones of wood, my heart was your picnic,

sandwiched between two chairs, rotting.

From that laugh–

lips downturned like

a long, winding road or a perpetual frown;

like a gust of wind,

harsh & determined,

it’s the modulation of your cackle

pushing me into the cushion,

where I was left sinking.

From that voice—

the sound of a harp

plucked against 39 sighs,

where I watched the bend of your elbow

motioning, curving, reaching towards me,

where I would not, could not touch.

From that place—

where I remembered a former lover

who taught me to kiss in the hidden places;

hilly landscapes of secret spaces,

where the pain would revel &

the stars would die;

like the napes of necks wishing

& the cages of ribs breathing,

beneath the feasting,

right in the shallow;

floating with shadows & lined with rage,

where sometimes,

our wings would grow.

From that scent—

you had me picking from lemon trees,

catching snowflakes with my tongue;

mound of moss-covered dermis,

your musk swirled around,

dizzying me & the rising nebula

built a fortress of fog,

where the sun went hiding &

the rain could not play.

Last night I dreamt you kissed me,

your face like a bow to my chin.

Were you coming or going?

I could never tell.

When you kissed me awake,

you kissed me away.

A. Pikovsky is a poet living in Philadelphia who is the child of jewish immigrants & began writing as a way to cope & digest trauma & cultures in conflict with each other. A. Pikovsky views poetry as an act of resistance/an act of love. IG: little_windmil

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