the darkness abounds
By Olivia Hooper
It came in the middle of the night,
when everything was quiet and the moon
was floating with the clouds.
When I asked for the Dream, it came
ugly, wild, abstract.
Whether I was ready for it or not, it came.
Then, I awoke mid-dream in the twilight.
I asked the tiny fan in my room why
he hums so loudly,
and I glanced red-eyed out
the window noticing the strong oak, so I said,
“excuse me, Tree, is this still my Dream?”
Because if it is, that would explain
why the shadows creep up the wall
and crawl, snarling towards my bare feet.
And if it were just a Dream, I would not need to worry
about my family or my future or this
world until I numb myself enough to fall back asleep.
I’d already be back asleep.
Yet as the oak groans back in reply, I know
this is not my dream – the shadows of this world
are real – and he convinces me to leave
him alone and go back to sleep.
I vanish in the bedsheets.