WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A STRANGER
I was back on the farm. I felt though that I was not really there but remembering, because new elements were present. I saw some sheep cut in half but they were hollow. I swept out a tiny building that didn’t used to be there, which led to a system of tunnels underneath the ground. I just wanted to be alone in the tiny place I’d swept, but I could hear people coming up through the tunnels. I seemed to have nowhere else to go and then, miraculously, I had the thought: “If this is remembering, I could try to forget,” and with that I woke up.
SOMETIME IN THE SECOND HOUR
I keep trying to get to the sink to wash my face,
but something prevents me.
Someone
I can’t remember.
I can’t remember who they used to be.
I’m the same person. It’s the same day.
Or the next day. What day were you looking for?
"YOU'RE SLEEPING ALL DAY AGAIN"
I know. I know what I said yesterday.
I had to close my eyes for just a second.
Kate Greenstreet is the author of Young Tambling, The Last 4 Things, and case sensitive, all with Ahsahta Press. Her videopoems can be viewed at kickingwind.tumblr.com.