Dream Bubbles and Fever Dreams in a Gone-Garden

vevses
a friend yells down the hall

veroni

the name from fourth grade i hated until i realized
she had always called me veroni
my not-aunt aunt more-aunt than an aunt
i wonder if it rolls off her tongue
someday i will speak the roll
it’s beet-sugar sweet when i listen
why can’t life be beet-sugar?

google told me i was a butterfly
i laughed then
was it a butterfly laugh?

eyebrow up

though we all got a bit of butterfly
butterflies don’t have eyebrows
time twists my eyebrows
time twists my memories too
while ‘doptera i am not
the connections are there
all part of the same smart system
speedwell 
gypsyweed 

veronica 
officinalis 

second grade was weird
sometimes i forget i am a flower
my grandma’s garden was always full
she left room for the veronica’s, always
now i wonder if they were for me

i wonder if she has regrets
minnesota isn’t as forgiving
family forgives enough for both of them
i’m left with porcelain prints
always there, silent, but they keep warm
i’m still thankful

who knows
maybe in another world
i’d be the dust-girl 
made of wishes and wind
weaving and whistling through the memories of mankind
women are too wary and weary to listen to dust
if we do it’s only a matter of time before 

crack 

i don’t mind the DVD shine
so long as it serves a purpose
and i have a purpose to serve

victoria
they never remember her
her-me
hermes
perhaps his winged slippers will send them the message
hallå?

it’s innocent
but still i wonder why
my name doesn’t tell my story
still it bristles
i laugh fast and fickle

june laughs different
more solid
maybe june is the dust-girl

no link connects me and my name
sometimes i like to dream one up
but dream bubbles don’t fly as far as soap ones
one day i’d like to think of my name as mine
but maybe i don’t need to

while my name might be a dream bubble
i am not
i will join the scruffy seagulls in the sky
and hold the important things inside gleaming walls
one day i will pop
we all do

but when i pop i will send all of me
glittering
down to the ground
akta dej
perhaps a little girl will smile
she will carry the weight of the world.