a poem a day for a year #258

by Amy Turn Sharp


Working towards positively identifying the pit in my stomach,
pulling the covers over my head,
and sleeping down in the deep.
We could tell each other what to dream about tonight.
Inception.
Meet each other there.
Ferris Wheels. Balloons.
The color green.
The complexity of all of us.
We would ride bicycles in a straight line.
We would always be friends.