When I was small, I dreamed in greyscale
rats with ropy tails scurrying between
boulders of plasticene.
The dream came in fevers until
my body trained itself to not get sick.
When you were small, you dreamed of
growing up holding your big sister’s hand,
partners in crime for all of life.
The dream swerved in high school,
blindsided when I left.
When we were small, we dreamed
and played together
when we were awake.
I still don’t get sick. Do you still dream?
You seem confused I left at all.