It was two years ago.
It was yesterday.
It was last night.
Dreams become memories,
become now.
So what is real?
This moment,
this breath…
I close my eyes
and time travel
To the place where I died
The sand soaking up my blood
I wring it out,
drink it down.
It goes down hard,
grit in my throat,
a weight in my lap
I can’t stand up
and walk away.
But I can be anywhere
Any when
I can kiss you for the first time
Again and again
All I have to do is
sleep.
I’d read the poem before—about Turner’s time in the Army, serving in Syria many, many years ago. But now it seemed like it was talking straight to me. Lines jumped out, ripe with new meaning.
Dreams become memories,
become now.
I can kiss you for the first time
Again and again