- Upon Waking as Mother
Dreamt again of my child liftedout of my hands. Of the sperm planted
like two great hands of a stranger reachinginside of me, spreading wide fingers
that make me a fault-line. Make mea prayer book, a consortium of root
lines like highways and migrationpatterns. The night falls every night. I fall every night,
to a face of one kind or another whotakes from me— from space I am folded into.
Selvage dream, or a river I stopoften to watch. The current is quicker
than it seems, snow too slow to trace,it takes its fingers to my abdomen, loosens my joints. [End Page 4]
Molly Dickinson holds an MFA from the University of Michigan Helen Zell Writers' Program, where she was a 2017–2018 Zell Fellow.