|
Dreams, Second Trimester 
In one, she plucks him from the earth like a radish,
brushes wet dirt from his grin,
and lifts his mouth to her breast.
In another, twice her size, he takes her in two hands
and lifts her overhead for wet kisses.
Last night I woke. She was by the window.
A bare tree bent, branches reaching,
as if it wanted to touch her face through the glass.
She turned and smiled.
Her nightgown glowed, silver.
My wife is the moon, I thought.
When I asked her what was out there, she answered,
I was. I was beautiful.
|
