The rules are clear: You have 20 minutes. Use them.
Forget the talking man behind you on television
hawking sleep aids. Much better to remember
past afternoons walking under tall pines
and the crunch of dead bees under your feet.
If a hawk’s shadow flies across the wall,
that doesn’t mean the raptor is actually in here.
The dream, which you won’t remember, features
a long-dead appaloosa mare calling to you
across the pasture. Think how you will respond.
Have your answer ready, just in case.
Trish Saunders's poems have been featured or are forthcoming in The Rye Whiskey Review, The American Journal of Poetry, Right Hand Pointing, Eunoia Review, Chiron Review, among others. She lives in Seattle, formerly in Honolulu.
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