Small Fires

So much dreaming last night.
My sister in law was alive again
and laughing about how happy she was—
and I looked closely, and wasn’t surprised
that she was breathing—
but that I couldn’t see any evidence
that a noose had been so tight
around her neck.
And she didn’t seem alarmed
that the man beside me—
the one I melted into—
wasn’t her brother, but a poet
who had opened his arms to me on the train—
and I walked into them as if we had a history
of meeting like that in public places,
in front of ghosts who we knew
would never tell.

DeMaris Gaunt

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