Dream Child

By Kiran Dhillon

I’d smile,

Whenever I’d see her shadow

Dancing through the hallways.

Playful giggles bouncing off the golden walls.

The sun would break through that glass no matter what, 

When she was alive. 

The clouds could be in their worst mood,

Frowning down

On even the most cheerful of souls. 

On the woman that sold handmade hats for a living.

On the guy that hand sketched new faces every day street side.

On the school teacher

Who saw the magic

Glimmer in each of her students,

Along with the bruises,

The cuts,

The soft spots,

The hope gleaming

In their innocent eyes,

The dreams,


She was conceived in paradoxical innocence, 

A raw conception,

A deliberate work of nature’s hand,

Entwined with 

The uncannily generous strokes

Of Luck’s fingertips. 

No contraception. 

The bareness felt so good.

Wet, soft, gently illuminated. 

All the ingredients

For impregnating

A gentle, old soul,

Fertile with the energy and ideas of a child,

Filled with a magic,

Yet unbeknownst,


Awaiting release,

Like the ovaries of a little girl,

At the threshold of womanhood,

Unaware of pleasure’s depth and captivating power,

With a seed. 

We were mothers. Fathers. Parents.

Of the precious dreams we became impregnated with. 

Our thoughts. 

Sleeping here. Sleeping there. Sleeping around.

On a cloud. 

On a couch. 

On an old, worn out bed.

In the library.

At a party.

Feeling her move inside, 

The kicks of joy at the rise of an opportunity,

The energy of every possibility being within reach, 

Felt like being full of life;

As if the world could bring

An abundance of blessings,

Or challenges,

Or misfortune. 

But I was supposed to protect her.

I was supposed to

Make sure nothing happened to her.

She was my life.

But here I was. 

On the operation table. 

A thousand hands poking at me.

Reaching into me. 

Touching me. 

Violating me. 

My thoughts bent out of shape,

My emotions ripped to shreds,

In a pile on the floor.

And my dream,

Struggling for a heartbeat. 


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