sometimes I wish I’d wake up

and find it all gone-the house

the kids, the husband, the car,

the neighbors, the city

my ability to write

my grasp of spoken language

I’d wake up with nothing

except the knowledge

that at some point, I should eat

at some point, I should sleep.

days would pass like this, melt into one another

like the blood of two disparate animals

I found, already dead.

visions of my past life

would haunt my dreams

I’d wake up, looking for my children, my keys

then realize

there was nothing, just my pointed stick

and the pile of sharp rocks I’d gathered to throw at things.

I’d learn

to stay away from berries that brought these visions of family

and vomiting, stomach cramps, diarrhea.

eventually, even the dreams would fade to only

of hunting, digging, eating

peace..

— Holly Day