• Trish MacEnulty

Dream Poem #1

Divorce was uncommon in 1958 in the southern town where my family lived but my mother -- with two angry teenage boys and a terrified toddler -- had had enough of his envy and his spite and his drunken brawls with cuckolded men.

At the sound of his voice I'd hide under the table. When that didn't work I ran into the woods lurking behind the house. My brothers, searching the copse, coaxed me into the safety of their arms. After the divorce, Mom removed the iced washcloth from her forehead and got up off the couch, became another woman, one we worshipped till her death and even now love the way soldiers love great generals, the way dreamers love their sleep.


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