Call Me Tomorrow - by Andres F. Arevalo Zea

Call Me Tomorrow

by Andres F. Arevalo Zea

Last time I bumped into you

it was one of those weird dreams

of mine, the ones that wake me up cold

sweating on my parents’ couch. You were wearing

that summer-orange dress, I was

walking all around the market crowd. They

smothered me when I reached

for the back of your hand. There was

no point, I thought, no point trying

to fall back asleep.