Aspects of The Dream Are Aspects of The Dreamer: 2
Jill Khoury
There’s silverware in the trees. Pots and pans weigh down
the low branches of the post oaks. She’s hung whisks,
metal teardrops. Deflated shapes knock together.
Manic kudzu—my feet snag. Here’s the entrance
to her trailer inside a mouth of vines. I hear that metal
rattle again and look up; she’s rigged a sort of awning.
Knives pointed downward: cleaver parer debone-
ing. Bent screendoor almost comes off in my hand
when I push the latch. Inside is dim and my feet slog
over the mauve carpet she hates. It’s swampy in here
with no a/c and the blinds drawn. On the tv an adman
shills rare coins. My mother’s perched on the couch dying
properly, wrapped like a molebeast in a baby blue
blanket. One claw protrudes.
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