Some things you do not have to see
to know their meaning.
Some meanings you do not have to know
to see. Water, or ships in a crowded harbor. I dreamt
I was pregnant, and, also, a boy. I was a spy
on a mission in the Mediterranean. Imposter.
I did not watch the State of the Union. I clung
to the lifeboat, trying to remember
the country code
for my librarian, to ask
what to expect, if the baby
would live, or was a baby,
not a dream. The body moves and the mind
rationalizes after. I take a breath
because the air smells sweet—OK.
My chest squeezes cold; I must be afraid.
Yes? No? Google says
pregnancy in a dream
is sign of a growth. Is that good?
Manipulate the body with motion,
medicine, food, sex, but the mind
keeps thinking, what now?
I haven’t felt joy since—
How much is enough?
Hannah Silverstein’s writing has appeared in Si Señor and The New Guard. She has participated in the Frost Place Conference on Poetry, attended a Vermonter’s Week residency at the Vermont Studio Center, and holds degrees from Yale and Dartmouth. She lives in Vermont.