In This Dream, They All Call Me Pandora

This poem was originally published in astrea zine issue two.

In this dream, I am called by another name.

I stand in the meadow and they all call me Pandora.

There is a box to be opened. 

Somehow, there is always a box to be opened.

Often, I dream I am trapped in the box,

and I can’t get out;

or sometimes, I do get out,

but everything I was hoping to escape 

came with me. 

Sometimes, I dream I am the box – 

a thing to be cracked open and observed –

carefully, carefully, though. 

The box is dangerous. 

The box is always dangerous.

In this dream, I already know. 

I know the contents of the box are visceral and violent and vicious.

I know that I don’t want to know what's inside. 

In this dream, I stand in the meadow,

and I shouldn’t open the box.

I don’t want to.

But in this dream, they call me Pandora,

and I know I will.