In my dream I ask Taylor Swift to read my poetry

At sunset she and I harvest hearts in your backyard, saving them 

in cloth covered baskets—we try to keep them from being pecked 

at by the wild birds you’ve invited to dinner. Being alone 

was never an option. You created a prison with chicken wire, and ghosts—

your women from the last four years. You were Bluebeard 

all along; collecting women, ensnaring them. They will never want 

to leave you—even when they imagine flames surrounding them 

in your bed, or when you chase them out into the street after midnight 

when they’re barefoot and topless. They will find reasons to return.

Taylor isn’t charmed; she knows you are a scorpion pretending

to be injured, sleeping—waiting to pass on the poison. She hid your keys 

in her corduroy pocket while you tried to whisper secrets to her. 

You are distracted again, pouring vodka and orange Gatorade 

for your hidden harem. We are always looking for an escape.

Taylor takes my hand; we run into the sunset away from your life.



Marisa Silva-Dunbar’s work has been published in Analogies & Allegories Literary Magazine, Dear Reader, Rough Diamond, and Cult of Clio. Marisa is the co-editor of the anthology “Kirstofia.” She has work forthcoming in Sledgehammer Lit Mag, and Chantrelle’s Notebook. Her second chapbook, “When Goddesses Wake,” is forthcoming from Maverick Duck Press. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram @thesweetmaris.

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