By Mary Cafferty
Horses dance on the insides of my eyelids,
trundle bed folded up behind the wall,
blanket snaking out at the corner,
I would cut an onion and three days later
still feel the sting in my eyes, the surprise
catching me off guard. I thought about
hot air balloons being buried in the desert,
the horses galloping across a field
I dreamt of lawn sprinklers and shopping malls.
When I woke, I reached my hand inside
the mailbox hoping finally to find
I could seal myself inside, cold
like a cave, waiting.
Mary Cafferty is currently pursuing her MFA at the University of Texas at Austin, though she is constantly dreaming of the big Massachusetts sky. She writes as much as she eats, which is often.