Once, we were two stalks of bent-grass
growing side by side.
A girl walked by and stopped to pick you
to be her wild berry skewer.

And who could imagine
such bone-chilling longing
in a grass blade
that sways in the breeze?

When I awoke I had
been given fleet feet
in order to catch up with you.

I had strong hands with which
to embrace you tightly
when we would finally meet.

I learned human speech
in order to explain
how much I had missed you.

I suffered through all
the childhood illnesses
so that everything impure in me
would flow out through feverish sweat.

As if in surrender, one morning,
I allowed myself to be dressed
in a fresh nightshirt.

White, white.
Like the snow that covers everything,
where not one cat or building super
has managed to leave a mark.

I gazed on the face of forgetfulness
that morning through the window.

My fever gone,
completely healthy,
I wanted to play.

I stretched out my hands to my dolls –
wanting more of them
and new.

I never remembered the dream
about bent grass
until today.