this is my scrapbook of dreams,
my variations on a memory.
i’m afraid if my chest bursts, thousands
of paper cranes will soar outwards
from all the wishes i never made
on the burning lights of birthday cakes.
my heart is made of paper.
it burns at the slightest friction:
a feather or tire burn would ignite the same flame.
volatility is a character trait i carry well.
filled with propane, this heart is protected
by a metal cage.
silly girl, don’t you know metal melts?
like the slick ice glinting off roads,
i am a warning no one takes heed to.
dangerous things are only known
once you fall in love with them, don’t you know?
the crunch of ice underneath these familiar ridges of skates.
the way the sun coats everything in an ethereal topcoat,
drenching the world in a glow that takes the breath of angels away.
there are still artists no matter how much you oppress them.
some musks cling to the yellowed pages of loved books,
as if you can feel the life in the breaths breaking up each word.
my grandfather’s laugh,
full of more heritage than i will ever understand,
his face creases with lines that run like rivers to places i have never seen.
sunset is my favourite hue.
the small details, the intricate things about a person that have clung to my present memory form a mirage in the desert of my heart.
my dreams are a hazy fever dream brimming with the colour in a laugh,
the grip on a pencil,
the fidget when someone’s about to cry.
This poem is a response to the #KiwiPrompt ”in a dream” from the week of February 22-27, 2021 by @jesszhng on Instagram.
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