I dream of men that will not leave
my room, perched like birds of prey
at my bedside. I dream of men
hurting me, for reasons I do not
quite understand. It has been too long
now, treading the water. My father points a gun
at me and pulls the trigger. Of course,
the weapon is empty. It is July and the heat is sticky.
I dream of men and their wanting, in ways
that terrify and excite me. I dream
that there are men out there
who look for me as I skirt their glances
in crowded rooms. It was too long ago
now—there is no longer any excuse.
I cannot judge myself for these dreams.
My father sleeps, mostly ignorant,
but knowing his daughter is full
of an earthy type of hatred, something
no man could understand.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 4.
Ariana Alvarado is recent graduate of Bellarmine University in Louisville, Kentucky. She is currently a graduate student at the University of Louisville pursuing her MA in English with a Diversity Fellowship. She was the 2022 First Place Winner of the Flo Gault Student Poetry Prize from Sarabande Books. She also served as the 2022-2023 BecVar Artist in Residence at Bellarmine University and self-published her resulting collection “Quiet Dark.”
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