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

night mare.

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Lind Grant-Oyeye is an award winning poet, of Nigerian descent. She has work published in literary magazines and anthologies worldwide.