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The New Green

To wake up every morning in the pines in your bedroom and have to
shake off the green nightlights is a blessing

I want to burn down the forest

that’s been growing

all night

in my brain

I left a note in my brain in red Sharpie it says      Don’t forget the matches

Embers go flying up to the top branches

The house

gets brighter and


Then I call down the hallway to my dead brother

Then more lights

In my home in my brain

I’m at home

The pine trees are beautiful and made of green needles the pine

     trees are beautiful and made of green needles

I went to sleep

and when I woke up

I was covered in


Nothing really happens to you when you’re dreaming

Everyone alive is alive

everyone dead is


Through the new green

they come back

they can’t

come back

but they come back

The lights inside the pines

are my pillow

I strike the matches on my teeth

and light the needles

I strike the matches

I keep being


I didn’t know that it would get easier but it does

The rain softly through the last of the branches is your voice

The lights are my pillow

My brother is my mattress

My mother turns off

the trees


tucks us in

from FliesFind it in the library

Copyright © 2011 Michael Dickman
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in Michael Dickman Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.