Problem Child

Underneath the carpet
and in between
the oak stained boards,
swept there by time and the kind of neglect that kills,
are the dusty remains of dreams I once owned
before I met you.

And sometimes when I lay way down there,
wrapped up in your bones,
I notice my old reveries
caught beneath my fingernails
where they start to glisten like new,
and it seems as I chew
on a mixture of cuticle and dreams
that I might start
to voice them again.

But then,
as I scrape my nails against your skin,
you suddenly shift
and cause my dreams to
drift out of reach once more.

- Kristen A. Kutz