There will never be enough time to catalog
all of the dreams of the things in my yard
in my house: the fat squirrels that roost in the trees outside
the sparrows that peck at the dead insects in the air conditioner
set in the window
the mice that live behind my stove, the spider curled in wait
in the corner of my room.
They whisper their stories in Morse code raps
clicking mandibles and tiny, clawed feet, demanding
I stay up just one more hour, one more hour to trap
their thoughts with my pen, in words I can remember.
When I dream, it’s of dust mites and fleas
bits of cheese left out on the counter, the warmth
of the summer sun, an explosion of flowers
the songs of the stars and a terror
of vacuums. There will never be enough time
to transcribe my cat’s demands, the hopes and dreams
of the blind voles in my basement
all of these things I need to write.
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, Grain, and Harvard Review. Her newest poetry collections are In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), Folios of Dried Flowers and Pressed Birds (Cyberwit.net), Where We Went Wrong (Clare Songbirds Publishing), Into the Cracks (Golden Antelope Press), and Cross Referencing a Book of Summer (Silver Bow Publishing), while her newest nonfiction books are Music Theory for Dummies and Tattoo FAQ.