by Beesan Odeh

A man two blocks down sells dreams out of the inside pocket of his jacket. The walkway is cracked and so are the corners of his eyes when he smiles to assure broken hearts the dreams in his jacket are just what they need to get out of their rut. White glue to hold them together. They work less like glue. More like smoke filling gaps in the aftermath of firecrackers. Falling. Fleeting. When you run out of dreams, there are always more, and sometimes folks have dreams to spare. Like the man on the corner plucking them from the inside pocket of his jacket—balloons on a string—tying them to the wrists of the willing. When no one waits up and everything weighs down, holding out an arm is easy, and dreams aren’t glue or smoke but hot air hoisting you until you can’t see the walkway that’s cracked like the eyes of the man selling dreams out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

Beesan Odeh is a Youngstown-native and graduate of the Northeast Ohio MFA program at Youngstown State University. When she isn’t writing or trying to convince her elementary school students of the science of reading, she’s probably re-watching Naruto for the millionth time or getting emotional over her muse and love of her life, Elvis Presley.