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.