An epic poem inspired by Escparil’s 2024 prompts.
One would think that a child with an imagination as strong as
the one that Aviana has that she would be dreaming every night;
One would think that a child with an imagination as strong as
Aviana’s paired with how much she is sleeping every single day
that she would wake with stories on top of stories about the made
up worlds from her dreams; One would think, wouldn’t they?
Aviana doesn’t always dream when she’s sleeping, not anymore,
but she doesn’t mind, usually, because dreaming feels exhausting;
Though, she does have one dream that comes often and she
holds on to it like its her last breath on her dying day – she clings
to it tighter than a vice grip – and no matter how deeply she breathes
it all in, it never sticks like the gum stuck to the bottom your shoes;
Sometimes she closes her eyes just to see it all again – the grey curls
bouncing around her too-bushy eyebrows that distract from the
crinkles around her eyes and lips – her neck skin sags and sways
when she moves and her voice is soft, as aged as she is, but
the image is so beautiful, and, truthfully, she looks just like her
grandma when she smiles; Aviana doesn’t tell anyone about it,
but she draws pictures of it when she’s alone in her room; There is
peace in picturing a life that she is almost certain will never belong
to her – hoping for a life she will only live in her sleep – wishing for
a single moment of that future in a distant memory that will
never belong to her as she exists now; She makes sure to hide
all of her pictures from the rest of the family, though, for two very
important reasons: 1) nothing is only hers anymore that isn’t bad, so
Aviana wants something that only she has to herself that isn’t
cancer or imminent death; and 2) the rest of her family will think
that she is giving up because they have not yet accepted her grim
reality for what it is; That is something that Aviana has been able to
do so much better than the rest of the family – she knows that
this battle with cancer does not end with a victory lap but rather
it sputters out like light bulb, and only ends with a white flag;
There is no shame, Aviana thinks, in admitting that death is
not far off on some horizon she can’t see; She knows it is a boat
floating in the canal waiting for its driver patiently; Sadly, she
also knows that the way she goes isn’t her choice, and all Aviana
can do is wait for everyone else to catch up to her while she
waits on the pier because she doesn’t have the keys to her afterlife.
Alixx Black 