Dreaming Deep Into a Room


Is it a voice or a hand that pulls
me deep into a room
I remember leaving tidy -- bed made, walls
bright, and where the two walls meet, a broom?
There, a shining - not quite daughter -
someone who might love a son,
books on her bookshelf, daisies in stale water.
She is brilliant, she is dying, his one
most loved girl, a deep embrace could kill
him. Should he hold her? Dream
weight: that can he, should we, and the mess -
dried flies on the windowsill
clothes musty on the floor. Sickly steam
instead of soft clear breath on glass.


- Helen Frost