The Common Room
The trouble with that one, someone says about a certain medication, was the dreams. A few of us nod, as though the dreams are a city we too have visited. With some it is dry mouth. Or a metallic taste. Or quickened speech. And with this one, we agree, comes dreams; the Vietnam vet gives a low whistle to indicate their intensity. Then the talk turns to dogs we love, or have loved and dearly miss. Then to the rain falling in dense violet streaks. These are the unsupervised moments, the in-between. It is morning. We are waiting. Spring is coming — officially, it is already here. I spread my hand like a wing to show my trembling pinky.
—Chloe Honum
—found in Alaska Quarterly Review (Vol. 38, No. 3 & 4; Spring & Summer 2022)