The Broken Things
I had a dream that I finally went to the doctor after so many years
and she said, “You poor dear, why did you wait so long to bring me
all these broken pieces, all these broken parts?” and I
started crying as she explained how everything that was wrong with me
were things that she could have fixed a long time ago
that she could still fix them now
that I had been living with all of this pain so unnecessarily
she couldn’t understand why I’d waited so long.
I wanted to explain, in this dream, with this doctor
how the burden of decay had become a weight I’d grown accustomed to
that the aches and pains in every step just affirmed the passing of time
that I was embarrassed to admit I was getting old
I was embarrassed to come in and hear from a professional
that I was getting old.
In my dream, the doctor patted my cheek the way my mother used to
made little clicking noises of sympathy, the way my mother used to
told me everything would be all right, that I’d come to the right place
I’d be good as new by the time she was done with me.
They never give out business cards, the doctors in these dreams
and once again, I woke up, not knowing where to start
where to go to make myself whole again.
Flight of the dragonfly 