Brenda Hillman

“We walked through night until there was a poem.”

“While I slept you stood in thecolorful night marketwith pyramids of brightfruit piled highWhere those who loved you,rushing back to their intimate stalls,held out pears that had beendreamed for youAnd would the dream pear notcome gladlyonce it knew this was youwanting to take it in?The dream pear chose reality,wanting your mouth as I did -Honestly, it was happy to be bitten.”