DREAMS OF BABIES

By Anya Groner / Issue 7

What I can’t remember, I make up over toast. I’ve left them behind. I’ve folded and washed them. Hid them. Lost them. Feet like soft thistles. Heads empty as jars. The dreams began early, when I was a child. I’m filled with their hands, their sucking sweet mouths, a want I deny upon memory.

Anya Groner’s poetry, stories, and essays can be read in journals including The Atlantic, The Oxford American, Juked, and Guernica. She teaches writing at Loyola University in New Orleans and is a fiction editor at Terrain.org and the book review editor for The New Orleans Review. To read more of her writing, check out AnyaGroner.com.