Yasmin Belkhyr

A Lesson in Dream Logic 

My sister and I were in the street, and it was late, and my niece ate yogurt. She has my hair: that is the truth. I’ve learned some things these past few years. Wasps and their milk. The sun bursting into red. The sky small and yellow in my palm. My nephew threw rocks: that is the truth. I want a man to hurt me: that is the truth. Think of the phrase, out of touch. Without touch. I never explained what kind of pain I want. There are some things no therapist wants to hear. Ultimately, there is just jutted blue and dead moon and waves the color of cotton candy. You are not the wounded dog, pelted with rocks. In this dream, my sister and I were in the street. It was late. I bought my niece yogurt. In this dream, there is only sky, in my mouth, teeth chewing the clouds to mist.