The day I met Freud
by Lind Grant-Oyeye
Like an ancient artist, I try to recreate my mother’s feet
in the old sand by the riverside, while the moon—its dead weight
shines through slivered clouds. I also once believed
the goat pen in the back garden could hold old secrets
like the unrepentant hyena, that trolls the heart of this land
and aimlessly roam, when darkness rests.
I met him right in the middle of the night,
around the edges of a dream, where I had pretended
to be me, once again, inside out
and he had pretended to be the exact re-incarnation
of my mothers dreams, buried in yet another
* * * * *
Lind Grant-Oyeye is an award winning poet, of Nigerian descent. She has work published in literary magazines and anthologies worldwide.