Tonight's Poet Corner: Anonymous Fever Dream

Anonymous Fever Dream
by Belinda Roddie

I feel sick. Head aches.
Dial spins. I strap a
full wine bottle to a gurney,
give it mouth to mouth,
resuscitate it,
give it new life in the form of
stomach bile mixed with
toffee cocoa. You check my forehead. Your hand is
scalded.  The skin melts and turns to
caramel. Sticky on my brain.

Drop down.
The fetal position is a human's
natural element,
where she feels safest,
the flame the most comforting blanket.
I order a grilled cheese
sandwich at a diner. The diner is my kitchen.
You are my waiter. You tell me there are
no grilled cheese sandwiches. I cry.
Poor hungry soul. I want
toxic medicine in the shape of a goblet.
You don't let me drink from the honeycomb.

In bed, I asked you for a flask.
You gave me an empty one. I
thought I was supposed to
piss in it. Bronze ire
as the throat swab was administered.
Tests came back negative. I still dreamed.
I still dream.
I still plead.
Give me

brandy.
Give me

butterscotch.
Give me

pins and needles.
Give me strength.