I felt rage in my dream

and even as I write those words

I grimace

because people say

(especially in the Midwest)

“Anger isn’t a pretty thing!”

It declines to settle in kindly

with the other words

or play nice

with accompanying poems.

It takes up room and

has a volume that

worries others.

Reason gets spooked–

takes flight fearing fight.

But

in my dream

it felt safe to release.

It lifted up

and out

of me

and for once

I didn’t worry about

the consequences

when I told him

F*CK YOU

Photo: a sculpture by Buenos Aires–based artist Luciano Garbati that reimagines the myth of Medusa