I knew by the shapes of the trees
we were almost home.
I wasn’t sleeping.
We had reached the spot
where the trees changed and I heard them say
I was sleeping.
Flying and falling were my only dreams then
and they just repeated
but in different ways.
One day it would all make sense.
I stayed quiet and waited.
Sometimes I lied.
I kept watching those trees.
We were back on our street again. For awhile
at least, I would keep on pretending;
I would let myself
be carried inside.
Emily Darrell just received her Master’s in journalism from the University of Montana and recently spent a year in Romania teaching journalism at The University of Bucharest.