Dream in Absentia

Janine Pommy Vega

My family cuts my hair to build
their porches, coffers, wooden chairs
they gamble with my teeth for enamel
tiling, pockets are too far from
my body, I am continually dropping
my little things

entrenched in portable leather throne
I sail out over streets of Brooklyn
trundled with sagging women
in the front rows, clutching tissues
change and tiny animals

the avenue is a crack clear day
in autumn, having gone to the party
I go again, dreaming whole new crowds
are there, we work everything out,
I step into the camaraderie of
winners, pocket ten grand, even
the curls in my hair are successful.

 

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