Nocturne for a Botched Youth
       

Nightmare where I wanted to return
                to childhood, but when I looked
                                back to my childhood, I could see right
                                                through my own girl-hand. Being a child again—

being a half-seen thing again—
                was like that dream in which you aren't flying exactly
                                                but being propelled forward by desire

                                                                which tastes of moonlight and nothing

                                                                                the starlit hem of youth just skimming
                                                                                            the silvered ground

And all around, this party of zero-hoarding ghosts who loved me
perched atop their zero nests like well-intended threats.

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Copyright © 2017 Paula Cisewski All rights reserved
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