Emily Yoon
A devil must occupy my dream,
for who else would design
my nightmares, though
they are not truly mine—
I cannot control their cities
nor their rivers full
of bodies. When I have these dreams
I clutch your blond hair
like a drowning person reaching
for floating straw—no other buoyant thing
in sight. I say, maybe it’s you—
you keep me from rest. When I speak
Korean with my mother on the phone
my native tongue is a code.
You, a secret.
Still, you form your body
around me, so close that
my dream occupies your dream.
I navigate your sleep,
what you contain is mine—
your sick cats I resurrect
as black lions. Your tormentors:
underwater. I summon bodies and bodies
of water, and you walk around them
in circles. Like this, we grow old together
without you seeing me.
But morning comes as suddenly
and surely as any morning. You are here,
beside me, fifty years younger—
dear God, I have missed you.
I wait for you to wake.