Hannah Kucharzak '13
I wake up and relay my dreams to him,
whether or not he sleeps sideways or
longways, with me or not, beds are beds
and dreams are indiscriminate illusions.
I gain sleep tales in handfuls, even awake.
They are a number of things because they can be
but it pains me to create these stories. I feel
as though I am weaving a quilt of fine horse hair or
reading tea leaves from a black mug. But one must
think up stories, one must shift reality into
half-fiction, half-nothing. (Old men do this
masterfully, sitting with their pipes and their
yellow eyeball-whites, a life made of
sidewayses and longwayses with women
who did their dreaming for them.) One must
always change: these are the destructive
images we flash to create behind our globular
eyes, the tornadoes ripping through oceans,
the lordly tsunamis and the deteriorating
New York City wooden houses. I am never
tired but I always sleep, always wake changed.
Hannah is a palindrome.