• Violet Le Claire

saturnalia and the golden age

i wake up with these cuts and bruises, wondering where they could have come from.

the deep purples and greens and the bright reds and blacks.

maybe i am secretly a sleepwalker, they say to never wake one at risk of harming yourself

or them.

maybe my tired and aching legs led me from my bed, down the stairs, and into some other

world.

maybe my feet had suddenly sprout wings like hermes and lifted me until i was level with

the stars and planets.

i think i might have danced along the rings of saturn or fallen into the craters of prometheus or

pandora or any of her other moons.

on the way i could have bumped heads with orion or perseus and been burned by their

glowing limbs.

and i think that maybe the universe weighed my heart on the scales of the libra

constellation.

and as the smoke from a passing spaceship blows in my face, i realize that, i too, am

running out of fuel.

so as i float back down, passing pluto, neptune, mars, and more, i feel my legs come to,

taking their proper place on earth again.

so i think that if that could had happened, i should have awaken and i would have not hurt

anyone, unlike other sleepwalkers.

my family, my mom, my sisters all see me stride back down the hall, up my stairs and back

to my bed, which is firmly grounded on earth.

when i wake up i can see faint outlines of my moons and my stars and feel the pull of my

rings and my constellations.


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