I had a dream that you were proud of me.

You walked next to me and smiled and

squeezed my hand,

and that’s how I knew it was a dream.

I woke up hungry.

I’m glad my brain can conjure images

of what it was I needed most,

my simulacrum mother.

Even in my sleep I have

to tend to her.

Even in my dreams I struggle

to imagine a mother that doesn’t hurt.

 

Photo by Church of the King on Unsplash

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