Tonight's Poet Corner: Eve Eve

Eve Eve
by Belinda Roddie

The eve before Christmas Eve,
I suddenly grew very, very tired,
and the simple act of decorating
cookies seemed laborious to me.

As I faded into sleep, I dreamt
of shadows dancing in old cabins
by the lake. I saw my father with
an ugly welt below his eye, inflicted

by a colleague who would not face
consequences for his aggression.
And above all, my fingers painted
smudged Rorschach tests of my own

neuroses - butterflies or moths, towers
or valleys from tarot card readings.
Everything reversed and flipped
and shrunk and expanded because
when you're dreaming, nothing is

actually as it seems. And I never
dreamt of lights. And I never dreamt
of Christmas trees. And I never dreamt
of the presents you were supposed
to lovingly wrap for me.