I Thought It Was a Nightmare

Jacob Stratman

I thought it was a nightmare. Indeed,
the image frightened me—a torso heaving,

its broad flesh covered in breathing eyes
from neck to waistline, face and arms blurred.

Canvassed in sweat or tears? There was a glistening—
a heat, a hard laboring, a proclamation.

When I awoke to the oblong moon,
winds blowing after the storm, already

poised to usher in the next, I stayed scared,
even as I tried to guess the being’s

purpose: to haunt me, devour me, rest
upon my soul until I grew mad?

Now, though, when I remember
the eyes, all of those eyes on that body,

its pulsing presence, the memory
comes upon me with a different force:

like the eyes of a mother over her child’s
crib, her posture’s yearning, her shoulders

arrowed at protection—her eyes soft,
her breathing rhythmic, her grip tight.

Jacob Stratman
Poet & Writer

Jacob has published What I Have I Offer With Two Hands as a part of the Poiema Poetry Series

Photography by Elijah Brune

Ekstasis Magazine