by Allison Lee
There are things I do not know of that already exist
They come to me in dreams that I wake up only to forsake
In these latent dreams, I stand barefoot
before ornate doors embellished by chrysalises
each one ever carelessly mundane
each one a singular moment from my past lives
In these latent dreams, my barren carcass
is shrouded in a pearly white toga
stained with the blood of my beloved
stained with the wine brought by enemies
In these latent dreams, charred are my
fingertips and tarnished are my rings
punishment for centuries of regrets
punishment for stalling at the pen
They had dared me to challenge the rule
and so I did, reaching for a taste
I had nothing to gain and nothing to lose
“What a life she lived, what a waste!”
I had stowed shreds of hope
in crevices of my fragile bones
come to terms with my demons
in their comfort I made home
There are things I do not know of that already exist
They come to me in dreams
saying they’re waiting for me