these dreams I have; by Ariane Elizabeth

these dreams I have; by Ariane Elizabeth
(Image credit: Ariane Elizabeth)

these dreams I have; 


Ariane Elizabeth 




these dreams I have;



our son rolls on a bed of glass,

the shards, now constellations

across his sides,

the shape of mustangs and lunar eclipses.

i remove stars,

one     by     one

as butterflies climb from holes

in the wall,

monstrous deep purple and red,

their legs unfurling six inches

to climb up the walls like spiders.

my palm, a lemon seed embedded

i  pinch and pull, palm splitting open

the insides; a concave of pulp

beneath the faucet, it fills

with burning water


you suture my wounds,

stitches of barbed wire

blood the smell of thick honeywine


slugs bite at our feet


—the constellations

on our son’s body—


now scars.


A little more about Ariane Elizabeth… 

Ariane Elizabeth is named after a Led Zeppelin song her parents misheard. When she is not traveling, she lives in Chicago, Illinois with her graphic designer husband.

Her recent work can be found in The Wayfarer, Pubslush, Three Line Poetry, Rust + Moth and Eunoia Review.

A poetry and non-fiction reader for Gigantic Sequins, she can be found online at:


Filed under: Prose/Poetry, Submissions

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