Poetry

Which One Am I?

I dreamed I carried a sick man in my arms

as if he were a skinny sleepy child.

I felt draped like a marbled Pieta,

climbed steps into a bathroom

that was tiled in shades of gold. 

A man stood beside a deep blue bath

and took the sick man from me. The bathroom

became a dark escalator, cracks appeared

around my feet as I was carried up and up

past a fragile window and a narrow ledge

where a woman stood, arms outstretched,

pinned against the glass, and beyond the glass

a city.

Caroline Butler

© 2014