by Alexan­dra Seidel
(Ger­many)

The moon is a lantern in my house of fer­al dreams,
each dream a beast from a leg­end unwritten,
their shad­ows cut from nightmares
and the wish to fly.

The dreams make lairs of the cor­ners, hide in the basement
and swing like acro­bats from the rafters;
when I sit down in my chair with a cup of anise tea
they some­times crawl up my legs
and go to sleep in my lap, dream­ing dreams of waking.

Each dream beast has a name and its own sto­ry, and each dream beast
is lost and alone with­out some­one to dream them.
The lucky ones are just gone one day, leave no trace
on the floor­boards where their claws drew strange lines once;
some­times they return, for­got­ten and aban­doned after waking
and I stroke their fur, watch them
bite holes into my skin in their sav­age pain.

Anoth­er night will come, I tell them, tell myself,
you will be dreamed again, your name held in a beat­ing heart
in the moment of waking.
And I sip my tea of anise, watch my lantern black as night
one time out of twenty-eight,
and ask myself who will remem­ber me and know my name
once the night is over, once the moon has gone to sleep.

Alexan­dra Sei­del lives sur­round­ed by many books. Some say she has too many of them, but those crit­ics aren’t right of course. Things Alexan­dra wrote her­self may be found in Jab­ber­wocky, Strange Hori­zons, Bull Spec and oth­ers. Late­ly she has tak­en up edit­ing poet­ry for Fan­tas­tique Unfet­tered and Nite­blade. Read her feline writer’s blog: www.tigerinthematchstickbox. blogspot.com

Filed under: Jabberwocky 12