In my dreams, you appear suddenly beside me, laughing,
this world your punch line, your impromptu parking lot dance party.
I’m always startled by your presence,
how quickly you adjust to the light, adapt to a world no longer yours.
Even Lazarus must have experienced culture shock
as he emerged from the tomb.
you always lived with such ease.
Soon, this nightmare masked as a dream will end.
The police will find you,
and you will go all too willingly,
ever framing poverty as one grand adventure.
Just my bad luck again, you will shrug.
Don’t worry. Don’t worry. You always worry so much.
And I will pick up my shovel—bury you until next time,
build another coffin for the living.
My mind just another prison for you to be transferred to.
Gabrielle Spear is a poet and community organizer based in Queens and raised in Northwest Arkansas. She was named a Goucher College Kratz Summer Writing Fellow, a finalist in LUMINA‘ s 2017 Borders and Boundaries Nonfiction Contest judged by Leslie Jamison, and a Brooklyn Poets Fellow. You can find her ranting about her disdain for Zionist hummus, capitalism, and the MTA @gabster93.