In Dreams

Father leaves no footsteps pacing the shuddering wheat fields out- side our home. He could leave me soft gut peeled, mother says. She sneaks me out every morning to dip me in the river by my ankles, covers my skin with salt to change my taste. When I lie down, I hear him teeth sucking the air outside my bedroom win- dow. Only a father could have a hunger like that.

Tara Mae Mulroy is a graduate of the MFA program in poetry at the University of Memphis and currently teaches middle school Latin at a private school. Her poems, stories, and essays are published or forthcoming in Third Coast, CutBank, Weave, Waccamaw, and others. Her chapbook, Philomela, was released from dancing girl press in 2014. Her blog can be found at