We called it play, what we did in bed.
It felt like a rehearsal.
I was stand-in who worked
while the vixen
powdered her nose.
Taking her time off-stage,
eating poisonous bonbons
and exhaling noxious, lovely fumes.
I didn’t mind.
For the warmth – the spotlight.
Happily I would have endured birth pangs
and borne a pale blue baby
While you slept in my bed
I heard you whisper
an elegy to another.
I never told you.
I had a dream
where I was the smoke
curling around your sharp teeth
before being hurled into the frozen air.
I had this dream and claimed
it was a good one
laughing in a voice not my own.
Meagan Maguire is twenty-one and currently a student at l’Université de Montréal. She enjoys foreign films, witty books, strange vacations, and good friends. Her upcoming credits include “Words & Images” and “Eunoia Review.”