The Sinner

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