Interpretation of Dream(s)
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