Two Prose Poems
Geoff Bouvier
Positive IDs
Today isn’t Monday, even if calendars say Monday. I’m not my friends, but sometimes, I’d like to be. My sister’s not her flying dreams, and she’s not her crying dreams. I’m not the height I am, but I’m five feet ten inches tall. Millions of Americans aren’t their cars. We work a lot, but we’re not our jobs. You’re not your money. I’m not my lack of money. You aren’t the preferences you have, and have, and have. I’m not your preference either, which is sad. We’re not tacos. Imagine if we were tacos. It isn’t time. But then it is time. Or perhaps, it’s always time. This land is not our land. We’re not our bodies. I wonder what we are without our bodies, without the flexes and the fur. I’m a musician, but I’m not the bossa nova. Are you sad? I’m sorry. Are you happy? It becomes you.
I Had a Dream I was a Maker but Your Pain was the First Thing I Made and it Wasn’t Good
for my little sister
I dreamt you fell and when I woke up I texted you and you said you had the same dream but I pushed you.
You texted me, and we both had had the same dream. We were morning stars but I called you a gas giant and said your planets were moons because your system had oceans and atmospheres and I was just a furnace consoling empty space.
I had a dream that being young was a dream but for you it was a nightmare because of me and I told you and you said at least my dream had it right.
I dreamt we were kids and I was kind to you and then we both grew old with no self-doubt and I’m asking you sis if it isn’t too late.
Geoff Bouvier’s first book of prose poetry, Living Room, won the APR/Honickman Prize and was published by Copper Canyon Press. His second, Glass Harmonica, appeared from Quale Press. He is currently an Assistant Professor of Poetry and Nonfiction at the University of Toronto and the Poetry Editor of Tampa Review.
