“August 23rd” by Ola Faleti
In my dream the sky is a permanent deep blue.
And in my dream I am the harried writer with pens and thoughts falling out of my pockets.
In my dream I am 2 years out of an MFA.
In my dreams I get coffee every month with Junot Diaz. Actually, in my dream I do sushi on Saturdays with Edwidge Danticat.
In my dream my parents still polish my framed graduation picture. Me without my trademark glasses (at my mother’s insistence, of course) and a dumb smile because what the fuck am I going to do with a writing degree?
And in my dream, my parents don’t ask “What the fuck are you going to do with a writing degree? What the fuck did we come to this country for? Who the fuck can you feed with a Pullitzer prize? What the fuck will we tell the neighbors?”
In my dream my parents say my talent could fill a whole swimming pool.
In my dream, when they talk about me to their friends I am “my daughter, the writer.”
In my dream I make lemon meringue pie out of lemonade.
In my dream all persimmons are the reddest red.
And in my dream nothing hurt.