Day Sleep

I dreamt we were in a graveyard,
you looked exactly the same.

There were bicycles tied up
near the dogs,
and friends of ours were getting married soon.

It might have been Valatie,
or Poughkeepsie,
but the 6 train overhead
screamed out Manhattan.

I tried not to be afraid.
You were saying things you never say.
They closed down the restaurant
I’ve been trying to get away from.

New York eats up my dreams.
You tried to pull me from apartment
to apartment,
through open doors where fathers
were playing with their daughters.

I tried to follow.
The moonlight was off.
The dogs were barking so loud.
You let go of my hand,
and I woke.

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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