You sat at the back of the room like a glacier,
arms crossed over your chest. I chattered
on, ignoring you but sneaking a side-eye
now and then.
Thousands of days have passed, this thing moved
way past estrangement into forever-gone land
long ago. But you reappeared, hovering like fog
over shifting ground until you finally walked over,
handed me a letter,disappeared again. Fog.
The first sentence read,
I was sober for 9 years, 8 months. Now I’m not.
I don’t know what to do with this,
this unsettling psychic information. That’s the thing
about dreams, where does fantasy stop
and cries for help start?
3 thoughts on “9 Years 8 Months”
Wow . This was fantastic. You’ve captured the illogic of dreams perfectly.
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Thanks, Mosk! So good to see you again!
😮 Such force. My go straight into my own dreams.