My father taught me that in a dream
a scream finds you on both sides. Reaching
out of one world into the other wrests
salvation. Would I could sleep. Before I was born,
he shouted into the night he would stay
and expects me to hear it.
And expects me. To hear it,
he shouted—into the night he would. Stay
salvation. Would I could sleep. Before I was born
(out of one world into the other wrests
a scream) finds you on both sides, reaching.
My father taught me that in a dream.
Marielle Prince is a native of Durham, North Carolina, currently residing in Charlottesville, Virginia. Marielle spent several years as managing editor of Bull City Press and has also worked as poetry editor for Meridian and intern for VIDA: Women in the Literary Arts. She received her MFA from the University of Virginia, and her poems have appeared in 32 Poems, The Collagist, The Greensboro Review, Lumina, Shenandoah, and Waccamaw.