Mary Kelly
Last Night I Dreamt I Quit My Job
and I found myself at a makeshift vegetable stall buying tomatoes from a woman
akin to a seagull who told me to place one of the fruits, the size of a quarter, beneath
my tongue. And I did so because I trusted the grey plume of her hair. Above us,
birds flocked like a Rorschach test and I saw many things: A plane flown by a bull.
A woman with the body of a cactus. That American President I can never seem
to name. And there was no diagnosis for what I did or did not see. I could be
anyone or nothing at all.
A nearby pedestrian carried a tote telling me to breathe. This is what one could call
a come-to-Jesus moment. When I turned to thank the pruning vendor for the tomato
seeds now lodged between my molars, she was gone. Perhaps she was not a seagull
after all. Perhaps she was more a raven or a common pigeon. Was the tomato bait or
a gift? I stand among the murmuration of a city. An iridescent bumper sticker said live
in the moment. So I do.
Mary Kelly is an Aotearoa-born poet currently residing in Vancouver, Canada. She is a graduate of The Writer’s Studio, and is the Poetry and Prose Editor for SAD Magazine in Vancouver. Her work is featured and forthcoming in takahē, Ensemble, Canadian Literature Journal, The Kingfisher, Poetry Aotearoa Yearbook, and elsewhere.