FEVER DREAM | Kathryne Gargano

1 min read

here’s a story about the woman i love:                            in my sleep, 

we wander the museum, & she points out all the animals. 

statues & paintings & engraved tea cups, 

with swallows building a nest. i do not tell her 

that in rome, swallows symbolized the souls of dead children, 

mothers in sorrow. it is a heaviness i cannot bear 

to put down. instead, i inform her that most male birds 

have tiny penises, if they have them at all, & she laughs & this 

is what i wanted:             her arm slipping into mine, 

her hat askew as she rests her head on my shoulder, 

until we turn the corner into the wing of arms & armor & there, 

drinking from cracked burgonet, is a fawn—down on two knees 

as if in prayer—until her gasp startles it gone.

Kathryne David Gargano (she/her) hails from the Pacific Northwest, but isn’t very good at climbing trees. She received her MFA from the University of Nevada – Las Vegas, and is currently pursuing a PhD in Creative Writing from the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee. Her work has been published in Pithead Chapel, Salt Hill, Phoebe, minnesota review, Tahoma Review, and others. Twitter: @doubtfulljoy