Sarah Caulfield
Kamakura
I had a dream last night where I met Trump, I hear him say, three steps ahead of me
In a heatwave. It was awesome. It’s a word reserved for the Sistine Chapel, maybe, or
Rollercoasters, or a backflip. There is nothing lost in translation. The red of his cap is stark,
The color of a memorial wall in Berlin, the unspooling of names over red paint.
The resemblance stops there.
The greenery is bright, oil-heavy in the rising sun. It glows, kryptonite, whenever I close
my
eyes.
I think of my grandmother, giving me a picture of her favorite saint for safeguarding. I
think of
Photographs of confiscated rosary beads, torn out of hands at borders.
I look it up later, to make sure:
Awesome: to inspire awe. Awe: a feeling of reverence, apprehension, or fear.
We all answer to something. I have to hope we all answer to something.
I make sure I am not alone with him for the rest of the trip.
Sarah Caulfield is the author of Spine (Headmistress Press, 2017). Her work has appeared in Lavender Review, Voicemail Poems, The Griffin, and The Mays (XXIV). She has lived in the UK, Poland and Germany, and currently lives in Japan.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.