The Monsters You Know

Today I thought perhaps I hate winter so
because I am afraid of spring. I thought, I want to
sit out dreamily in the sun until I have the
technicolor gloss of protected grass. My
ragamuffin sweater hung awkwardly on me, sliding
off as I walked, my shoulders white as the
overexposed dust-jacket of a luridly avant-garde
book. I have turned so white, and I
used to be browner than Aje, summers ago
before either of us had jobs or bills.
Do I want to go back? Last night I
thought of dreams like smoky water.
Thought of a picture, black and white and
overexposed so that small details fade into the
objects around them. A picture of a
child’s bedroom and superimposed over it one
of those old style sailor’s maps with
the part about “Here there be Monsters”
circling round and something about a compass
rose.