The translucent slime of bad dreams
followed me to bed, reassuring that the
slender pink bellies of otherworldy animals
would come crawling from my dresser drawers
like worms; their bloodless rings of tissue exposed
in the stagnant, black air.
Eyes like slits I'd paralyze my own bones,
waiting for the wriggling masses,
the hiss to encircle my ankles
until my mother's fingers chased the bad thoughts out,
tracing half-moons on my lower back at night
when the only place I could find sleep
was within the grasp of her flannel pajamas.
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