top of page

Keep only those things that speak to your heart

My dreams are carefully folded 
like clothing, like sheets, like origami. 

I stuff them into a birdcage. 
They protest, resign, comply. 


I lock the cage. Place it 
in a cardboard box. 


Fold the lid in on itself. 
Free to a good home. 


Free to any home. 


I put the box on the curb in the sun. 
Inside, it heats up. Stifling. 


Inside, I twist in on myself. 
My dreams wilt, wither, melt. 


Spread across the base. 
Pool in the corners. 


Soak into the cardboard. 
I am wide-eyed at the window 


as the box is picked up by someone 
in a pick-up who doesn’t even bother 


to look inside. The box is light.
And heavy. 


My dreams drive off down the street. 
They protest, resign, comply. 


Turn the corner. 
Something new flutters. 



first appeared in Star 82 Review, 2021

One Poem: Work
bottom of page