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
brighter
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
pitch
Nothing really happens to you when you’re dreaming
Everyone alive is alive
everyone dead is
again
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
alive
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
and
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.