[39] The Dream Year, Aine Greaney

That year I often dreamed
of a wrecked train with blue seats and
mangled luggage racks
and a window where
I saw my own face-

Trapped, too, in a new job with a new boss who
led me down an aisle
between blue cubes and Plexiglas
Your office, she said, with
a fluorescent smile as
I stepped inside my dream gone real and

Dark days and dream nights-
until that evening before bed when
I mourned the wasted hours and life
and I said: I used to be alive
as I keened and rocked
back and forth and
forth and

Back-to-back fear and
death four squared as COVID spread
and I fled that cube and job for a place where
the trains
can’t go or stall or depart but where
the sea washes in and up
to baptize the

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