Poppies in bloom about the Cave
In Greece, I saw drops of red on all the ruins.
The seeds of sleep dripping with milk
My blind grandmother drank milk and maple syrup.
All the world rests under enchantment
The bloodied eyes of Briar Rose’s prince remain with me.
The soundless Cave with no door
The bruises on her spine silently screamed volumes last night.
A soft bed cradled in its depths
My godmother made a crown of freshwater pearls for my bassinet.
The God of Sleep resting and drowsy
I’d come so close to throwing myself out a window; I’d not slept in days.
Dreams floating all about him.
In Spain, I burned the thin skin on my breasts and we picked bones from salmon.
The poet would like to credit Blair Warner, whose poem “The Cave of Sleep” provided the basis for this response.