[question asked by Grace Welch]
I dreamt one night I escaped from prison:
the Harley dream, wind against blushing cheeks,
smell of perfume off fields of flowers.
I awoke broken, chained. Now,
released, it’s that wind I search for
as if brushing my face like a damp towel,
freedom the getting-away, getting-by.
Without this cushion, lungs can’t breathe.
I might as well be back in a cell,
dreaming a hole in the wall, a way out,
as the dream me dreams about cursing
the turning key that will lock him
in a sterile space: some hell, hospital,
home for strangers too long on the road.
Ace Boggess is author of the novel A Song Without a Melody (Hyperborea Publishing, 2016), and two books of poetry, most recently The Prisoners (Brick Road, 2014). Forthcoming is a third poetry collection, Ultra-Deep Field (Brick Road). His writing has appeared in Harvard Review, Mid-American Review, RATTLE, River Styx, and many other journals.