The Cardinal

Zoey Brookshire

I have never dreamed in numbers. An enormous nine showed up

once but only in passing on its way to the friend who owned it. 

All are equal in these dreams of mine, so that big nine was, let’s say, 

non-representational. He counted only for himself and the person who 

had enslaved him in a metal casing. I sometimes envied the ownership 

of that nine and in idle moments considered a plan whereby he would 

become mine. I imagine him placed, quite handsomely, at the edge of 

the forest, not far from the house, as sentinel in an elegantly mannerist 

display. I thought the forest might enjoy the joke and find the red coating 

of the metal as handsome as did I. Red being complementary to green

and also the home of this particular forest’s favorite bird, the cardinal.


I do know the numbers follow you. I know how they wait at the edge 

of your bed and watch you dress. I know you enjoy their games and 

make up games for them, as if you were The One, the one they might 

share a secret with, like the code of holy orders a prime number keeps.

Zoey Brookshire is a poet living in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.
Originally published:
March 11, 2025

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