April 1/30

Reenah L. Golden

I slept with a hammer under
my pillow last night. 
I awoke unable to remember my dream. 
I think I wanted to be something dainty. 
Was it a ballerina or a rose? 
I try to reattach the moth wings
to my eyebrows in a haze hoping to recollect.
The church plate is being passed.
I am out of cornbread. 
My heels are not high enough
to peer through Doctor’s iris.
My fortune is stuck. 
The wheels of the carriage spin and
whine while mothers cover their babies’ eyes. 
I hold my breath. 
The stench is unbearable. 
It is toxic. 
They have released a chemical into the subways
and the rats are dining with the pigeons. 
We are all giddy and high.


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