i had this dream last night
that i ran away
somewhere the ocean stretched out forever
and the world was cold beneath my fingers
and i woke up in a sweat
cause god, what if i left behind everything i know
for a chance to escape
’cause maybe this is what it’s all been coming to
maybe this is the only way i’ll be okay
the only way i won’t spend my whole life running
won’t work until i bleed
gasp feeble breaths through the lump in my throat
and watch my mother’s face take shape in the mirror
where i used to see my own
i had a dream i wore nice dresses
and bought a house near the city
where the grass is green
and i don’t drive myself half-insane with worry
i make my bed and pour some tea
i forgive myself, slowly
’cause i’m living the dream in a one-bedroom apartment
where my poems are soft, and gorgeous
and i’ll never go home
So, I woke up a few days ago at, like, 5am (without an alarm) with this inexplicable, desperate, life-or-death urge to move to Denmark. I went back to sleep, and then first thing I did, woke up and went on this weird, half-asleep research frenzy.
I have family there, and I’ve always heard stories, but I’ve never seen it before–and I think I really want to. This poem isn’t totally literal–for the sake of this poem “Fenmark” represents this ideal I know only really lives in my head, this sort of bittersweet, desperate fantasy of escape. I hope I’ve left it open enough to be interpreted by the reader.