The Prophet in My Mother’s Dreams

(View at The Salt River Review)

The prophet falls serpentine
In my mother’s dreams and the
Fringe on his blanket tickles
Us into shocked laughter
About a prophesy of
Wholesale family deportation

Mama’s dream gestation,
The prophet drums her dreams
In our hearts when she wakes in the morning
Cooled by tarpaulin the color
Of shadow

Mama balances the Prophet
On her head
And he drips dream wax in her eyes
To warn her of
Conspiracy
Come true before she
Threatens one night
To pre-empt it and
Sever her own arms