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
