A Poem by April Salzano

The Girl of My Dreams

She is thin in the morning and fat
by nightfall, loose seams tearing apart, death
a wish that comes as much as it goes,
a passing fancy, a fancy passing.
She watches a string dance, umbilicus
of dust laced from ceiling to cupboard,
she is sure it is not the reverse.
She watches it blow but never fall.
Falling and mingling with the rest of the filth,
it will go undetected.  Her skin has a mouth
that eats everything in sight.  Careful,
she thinks you look delicious.
Dust bunnies romp in the garden of her
dreams, unflowered, save the dandelions
with all their heads popped off
because of people who had babies
and made rhyme out of reason,
not the reverse.  Laughter is her echo,
a paralyzing fit of convulsions.
She is contradicted.
Look into the mirror.  Her
reflection is yours.  Now read this
backwards and see
how lovely she is.



April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two sons.  Most recently, she was nominated for two Pushcart prizes and finished her first collection of poetry.  She is working on a memoir on raising a child with autism.  Her work has appeared in journals such as Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Camel Saloon, Centrifugal Eye, Deadsnakes, Visceral Uterus, Salome, Poetry Quarterly, Writing Tomorrow and Rattle.  The author also serves as co-editor at Kind of a Hurricane Press.