Finding Oz

I dreamt a room, a house,
a family of five; I was
daughter and mother.
There was no way out,
I wondered- who
had let us in?

Every floor, familiar shame,
in one, I died a virgin,
another, filled with mis-fit
keys that opened nothing.
Where were the gifts
that I'd been given?

In this house, time grew
hallways we traveled in,
our bodies moved but walls
remained unchanged; a furnace
never lit but stocked with coal,
our matches damp and spent.

When we escaped, my mother
and I,we bargained for the same,
brother, father, sister, lover
all fell asleep in a poppyfield
knee-deep and rising when
my dream began to rain...

ping, ping, ping of
the alarm clock ringing.

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