Once, in a dream, I watched an elephant eat a small yellow bird. The bird fought so hard to fly
away, but the elephant had its trunk wrapped around it so tight that the bird just couldn’t get free.
It was over in seconds; the elephant gulped down the little bird and that was it.
That night I was not myself;
I smiled and laughed and pouted
And sang my siren song.
I caught something that night.
I took him home and he has not left me since.
He’s calling again, “just calling to say hello. I’m going to be in town soon.”
He’s calling again, “I miss you, I really want to see you.”
He’s calling again, “I really want you to be part of my story.”
He’s calling again and I don’t know how to deal with it
The me from that night left with no word of when she’ll be back
I need her to clean up this mess.
My friend, she said,
Why do you lay in bed so sorrowfully?
You’re breaking and breaking,
Can’t you see?
The Horsemen are coming.
Will you let them pick you up?
Or will you beg them
To turn you into dust?
Goodnight stood in front of the door for ten minutes before knocking. The door swung open on
its own. Goodnight stepped into the room, and found it empty. The door swung shut behind
Goodnight and the room collapsed. The last thing Goodnight remembers is being in that room
that collapsed. Goodnight did not find Green Jade. Green Jade is still out there somewhere – lost.
Regina Agokei is currently completing her fifth year in the University of Toronto Mississauga and Sheridan College’s joint Art & Art History program. Inspired by surrealist art and poetry, Agokei seeks to blur boundaries of the everyday and engage with interconnectivity as it presents itself in her daily life.