Zoë Ryder White

[The dream says it’s more stripper ]

The dream says it’s more stripper 
than costume. More black light 
than bandage. You’re up to 
ironweed and the dream 
has stepped out of its shorts.  
Jewelweed jack in the pulpit 
jacaranda. Knapweed. 
The dream begins 
to hiss disconcertingly. 
It shakes its paper bag of seeds.  
See what I mean? 
Throws its shirt on the floor.  
Love in a mist. Lupine. 
See how it compensates? 
It gets sloppy. It spills 
down its bra. It’s sticky. It howls. 
Milkweed. Remember? 
You’ll be enmeshed soon. 
You bring the tea cake, 
the sweet demeanor.
The dream accepts devours 
offers up your favorite failing. 
It won’t leave you alone. 
Be comforted. 

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