Stone angels fly in my 
dreams late at night
they make sure I don’t 
and I do and I might.

I dream of an affliction
that tills more than soil
if I had plans God want to foil.

Imagine the screams of 
a redwood felled,
mechanical failure,
data withheld.

What if I walked in the kitchen,
closed the door behind me?
What if I wore a white apron.

Imagine a metal cookie cutter 
shaped like a gingerbread man, 
imagine it cutting clean through clay;
today’s a big day.

Imagine a woman donning the world
imagine a woman who once was a girl

Imagine my children, conceived 
out of fear, laughing mama, mama
did the stork drop you here?

What if their smiles save only their father?
What if they’re trained never to bother?

First is the worst, second is the best
but third is the one with the treasure chest;
one man’s trash, another woman’s me.

-ft