In another dream, in a body not
touched by their hands,
I bang on the door,
scream that there is a fire.
But that is not this dream.

In this dream, I watch
from across the street.
When flames
cross the threshold,
I don’t even flinch.

 

 

 

 

Photo by Chris Karidis on Unsplash

Facebook
Twitter
Pinterest
ReddIt
Previous articleDissociation
Next articleThe Children
Kristin Ryan (she/her) is a poet and essayist working towards healing, and full sleeves of tattoos. She is a recipient of the Nancy D. Hargrove Editor's Prize in Poetry, and her work has been nominated for Best New Poets, Best of the Net, and the Pushcart Prize. Her poems and essays have been featured in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Jabberwock Review, Milk and Beans, Moonchild Magazine, Serotonin Lit, and SWWIM among others. She holds an MFA from Ashland University, and is a MEd. candidate in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at Lindsey Wilson College. She works in the mental health field and tweets @kristinwrites

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here