Crown of Thistle

Once I dreamed I was a princess or

someone else important like a

priestess

and the angels took out my trash and

scrubbed my toilet. I dreamed

you were a prince or maybe a bounty hunter

who was

fierce, but also

gentle, who would wash my feet. I dreamed

you tracked down my nightmares, brought them

squirming

to my throne,

tied them to a pyre of pine

and burned them alive. I dreamed

we danced widdershins around the throbbing flame

with mint leaves

under our tongues and

silver beads about

our ankles.

But you were only a mechanic

with a milky smile.

You helped fix my toilet -the one

the angels never cleaned.

My nightmares still murmured to me with

lewd grins

from behind unburned wood piles

and shanty palaces.

They wore

my stolen crown of thistle.

 

 

 

 

 

2 Comments

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  1. Wow. The turnabouts in this are fantastic…the toilet cleaning (or non-cleaning) angels and the milky mouthed mechanic–terrific!

  2. This is absolutely lovely. I love the rhythm and the comparisons. “I dreamed you tracked down my nightmares/brought them/squirming/to my throne/tied them to a pyre of pine/and burned them alive.” So, so good.

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