By Paul Ilechko
He dreamed that the oranges were hollow
each one filled with a dead mouse
the pulp scraped out and dried
woven into a thread that is stitched
into olive cloth on a curving line
delineating the ephemerality of a life
spent in constant retreat
he dreamed of an era of terror
and how it might be survived
waking to a stream of new knowledge
strategy and tactics from an unknown source
his mouth filled with the words
of someone else’s sons and daughters
there will be sailboats on the silent lake
he was told veins bulging in the arms of sailors
who haul in the weight of lengths of rope
his father watching from the shore
the sadness of his eyes emphasizing
the duration of the seconds ticking by
but he would never not be a man
consistent in his way of being
the tenderness expelled with every breath
he must always exist even beyond this life
and all of the dreams which surround it
his orange groves a place of respite
from the deafening noise of war.
About the Author:
Paul Ilechko is a British American poet and occasional songwriter who lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ. His work has appeared in many journals, including The Bennington Review, Bear Review, Atlanta Review, Permafrost, and Laurel Review. His book Fragmentation and Volta was published in 2025 by Gnashing Teeth Publishing. He reads for Marrow Magazine.