Wake Up

I am singing you a lullaby
and stroking your hair.

I am trying to imagine you
smiling and not begging
not choking or bleeding,
not afraid
not dead

with your hands down
and empty
or full of your lover’s body.

I am writing a new story for you
a new narrative devoid of blame.

I trim the edges of this picture
until all that remains
is a world that says it’s sorry,

until all the rugs are hung on the line
so we can see what had been swept underneath,

until people admit that there is a third side
to every story and that is where the truth lives.

It’s time to wake up,
but this is not a poem
about sleeping.

Or maybe it is.

Maybe this is someone’s dream
and what a terrible thing that
would be.


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