Last night, we started the first of our six-week poetry feedback class. Clearly our sharing infiltrated my dreams…with thanks to Erika, Krithica, Mariette, Robyn, Janet and Cassie.
After Poetry Class, Last Night’s Dream
iridescent-skinned bugs with wings and pinchers
bite my calf, distracting me from Tom Cruise’s lips.
the tight pain cue me to more danger: flip the
hotel bed blankets open like a soft-paged book
watch the insects panicked by the light
skitter into safety circles as I contemplate
a disgusted, fearful exodus or endure the infestation
on the slight chance of a passionate tongue kiss.
Tom laughs, his teeth like naked novel spines.
inside this recurring story, I remember he never
wants my sex, only my support. the shiny beetles
devour my thigh, a moving black hungry mound
punctuation period: awake now, it’s a dream.
the poets talked about mayflies and marriage beds
about c o v e r l e t s and cracking knees. a line waves
a white flag: nobody knows what they’re doing.
VANESSA SHIELDS 