CALL ME BELOVED

it wasn’t any easier as a child –
only the rules have changed,
the flickering fickle stories
that populate your nightmares.

when I was small
I was always being chased.
shapeless looming shadows just over my shoulder,
a frigid hand twisting around my bones
that would rip me back into wakefulness.
it was the mercy of the morning light, gentle
and diffused through the curtains
that took the lingering thoughts
and faded them like overexposed photographs
until nothing intelligible was left behind.

now I find myself upright in bed
preternaturally tired, worn ragged in dreams
after endlessly chasing vague shapes
I can never hope to reach, the nightmare
of never knowing what it is
I so desperately desire.