My sleep therapist recommends restructuring dreams
So that the outcomes don’t
Come out. My husband doesn’t leave me
For a woman who supports his athletic pursuits;
There is no skinned gorilla
Washed ashore outside our dreamhome.
Real or un-, hideous thoughts at times
Prevail in me. I saved the keys to our torn-down
Building to give me something to cry about.
I went there one night and
the walls were all over the floor.
I sat in the dusty bathtub, going,
Oh Daddy, Daddy,
I’m too old and no longer pretty enough
To be acting this way.
The moon in black sky—
I felt it
Tucking the tide over my child body.
Erin Moon White is an artist, performer, and writer from the suburbs of Detroit. She has also lived in Seattle and Brooklyn. Her current habitat—with husband and two cats—is in lovely Jamaica Plain, MA. Recent short fiction can be found at Blunderbuss Magazine.