I Dreamed a City Like a Woman on Her Side

I dreamed a city like a woman on her side
her boundaries silver-lined
a gray wall with glass atop, or tinsel
bright-edged,
to keep birds and bounders away.

her hair flowed into a great lake
her tears flowed into a great lake
she lay upon her side, and wept,
her hair in her face,
her verges sun-tipped, jagged.

was the lake her wound?
the city lived in her, yet she wept.
her walls were fortified,
her outline strong to anyone
watching with a bird’s eye.

did they know they lived inside her,
her citizens in their scurry?
did they let the lake crawl into their laps
stroke its waves and whisper:
don’t cry, don’t cry?

was she sore at her stony boundaries?
close to rupture?
groaning under glass, or tinsel?

did she bleed every time they closed
or opened
her doors?

May 30th, 2023
C. S. E. Cooney