when you dream of a house, the house represents your body

1. in the dream
the house was a hostel
the portly danish man wore a mustache
and had red hair
the paintings in theĀ  yard weren’t mine
the hiking path led to our backdoor
the doughnuts were cheap
except for the honey doughnut which came
to a live comb
bees included

2. in the dream
home was a dorm
6 of us sleeping in one room
i rotated my bed
to alleviate the water leak
i fell asleep
comforted by the low buzz
of voices
from the other room

3. candy bears
(yellow, orange, red, blue)
shiny and tangysweet
sugarcrunching in between molars

4. from the second story window
above the bathroom sink
the neighbors soggyleafed yard
the abandoned house with citrus-slice shaped windows
and all of north portland
grayblue and bare-branched
flying low
along the columbia river

5. light
and fading
but you find it out the hallway window
the half of a winter rainbow

6. five pounds of metal
boiled and cooled and warmed up again
gripped in your fist
and coated
in seaweed
we work slowly

7. smell of garlic on my fingers
i’m right here with you
you say
while my ears follow the footsteps
down stairs

8. an ashtray
piled with sunglasses and
huge-faced watches

9. molly, 41
discusses the legacy of distrust
and how she inerhited it
from her native american grandmother
and how she is sewing life-size self portraits
as one way
of taking this apart

10. before dinner
there was a deviled egg
a chocolate chip cookie
and a bowl of homemade chili
passed between the three of us

11. in honor
of an ordinary sunday
thai food on fiesta ware
a short round
of spin the wallet

12. on the ride home
felice reminds us of the dreamtheory
that goes:
when you dream of a house
the house represents your body

13. you
breath deepening into sleep
the weight of your hand
fastening my palm to your chest
to pull away so that i may type this
the cruelest gesture