Dream Medium

There are spirits in my dreams.

Initially undetected, they enter my mind,

as my thoughts finally cease to stream,

and the night and I are entwined.

Mothers, lovers, a killer, a snake.

I become them, and they become me.

Some seek clarity, and others power.

Revealing their memories until I wake.

Some with the hopes I will make them free.

Some with the intent to devour.

One night I was burnt alive on a pyre,

another, stabbed beneath my heart.

One spirit filled me with their fervent desire,

another considered torture an art.

I must have re-lived one thousand deaths.

I’ve perished in the throes of fever and birth,

I’ve slipped away quietly in my sleep.

I’ve felt the holiness of those final breaths,

the sensation of being covered in damp, warm earth,

heard the fading sound as loved ones weep.

My prababcia told me we contained magic.

Scorpios born in November with second sight.

So while I’ve seen things both horrible and tragic,

Spirit dreams also feel like a sacred rite.

By day I must be responsible and composed.

Government workers don’t believe in ghosts.

I cannot speak to the lives I’ve lived at night,

this clairvoyance cannot be exposed.

To friends, I’ve used hypotheticals at most

to describe this unconventional plight.

My daughter came to me in my bed,

her cornflower eyes filled with tears,

nightmares still filled her head,

ghostly voices still filled her ears.

I wonder if she has the Scorpio gift,

and who could be visiting her dreams.

She is too young to understand the weight

of visiting souls set adrift.

And so I silently weave moonbeams

into a shield for her, daring fate.