Martina Reisz Newberry
On My Way
I keep dreaming of my father
and I worry about why.
He wanted a boy, got me instead.
He was ok with it—not ecstatic
but ok.
A girl can’t ask for more than that,
can she?
Mother was and is a kind of blur
even in my dreams. I confess
to having been frightened
by her intermittent insanity—
a pastiche of moods and personalities
gleaned from dreams and magazines
I see it now as a kind of divinity
and regret my fear of her.
These days, I can’t help but wonder
whether I should follow my real life
or my dream life. I am certain there is
some answer between doubtless and maybe.