poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Wild White Dog

Dreamt my mother was in Cairo on Mother's Day
I could get there/ I couldn't get there/ I could get there
if once I got there I would consent to live there,
but I was worried about the moon
and I could hear the women on the bridge talking
but the running water was white
noise that ran over their voices and into my ears,
preventing me from having thoughts about Cairo and my mother,
preventing me from hearing the footsteps of the dog
as he crept up and there was the main part of the river
and a small stream flowing into it and then a pool off to the side
that smelt like the ocean, that is to say, decay,
as I sat between the stream and the pool
wiping black bugs off my white sleeves
looking blank as the watermusic emptied me
and the dog breathed in my ear but I heard it as wind:
he was dripping white foam watermusic
and had the blank of sickness in his eyes
I told myself I was going to try and meditate,
that's when I woke up,
feeling like the wild dog didn't attack me because
I hadn't done anything wrong.