Dream - Priscilla Ahn

If I stretched my hand out just a bit further, I could touch that branch.
Just one soft fingerpad upon that smooth bark.
And maybe that touch could be a grasp,
and maybe that grasp could be solid enough to climb.
And if I could climb, I could swing.
Swing branch to branch, around the trunk, higher and higher. The wind would whistle through my ears and the leaves would brush my face, fleeting lover’s kisses.
And I would be weightless among the birds, the clouds, the sky.

I wouldn’t worry about the ground, the dirt, the roots.
Nevermind the hands reaching for me,
Nevermind the twine coiling around my ankles,
Nevermind the minnows nibbling my toes
I could be among the wind

But when those soft kisses become scratches,
the trickle of warm dark redness from my cheek washed away by
the stream of warm salty clearness
It seems that I couldn’t be weightless, fearless, or free.