It was supposed to be a dream where I died
at the end and by the beginning of the dream
I was starting to die already.

The taxi wrapped itself around central park
and left a trail of me behind it.
It was quiet like a man carrying a very full cup of sap.

In the dream the man handed me the cup of sap.
He said, here is your heart, part one.

I imagined a wolf painting me green,
and my heart was a chimney.
I imagined my green chimney, wild.

In the park, something was generating.
In the taxi, the man’s features
began to grow damp.

In the dream I was supposed to have
our silence was a feathered roof gone wild
in the cup inside my chest.

Let’s say that the taxi wrapped around me close like a cup of water.
Let’s say it was this, and only this, that taught me about death.

Nora Claire Miller is a rising senior at Hampshire College concentrating in poetry and archival studies. Nora’s work has appeared in H.O.W. Journal and The Reader.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Softening

  1. Very nice! The end hits hard!

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