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Posts Tagged ‘dream’

Dry December

 

 

 

Winter, this year,

like the dream

in which I must

call someone

but I cannot

remember who

it is, only

how important

that I call.

 

When I wake,

I walk to the phone,

but waking

brings me no

closer to remembering.

 

Off the porch,

the pansies

wear plum

and gold—

there is summer

in their softness.

 

I stare at them.

Who is it

I am supposed

to call? And

what has happened

to winter?

 

The sky

turns a bluer

shade of blue.

The pansies

nod. Whatever

they know,

they’re not telling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Between

 

 

 

all morning

unable to untangle

what is real

from last night’s dream—

part of me reaching

back to massage it

into being, part of me

packing the lunch,

making the tea

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Big Escape

 

 

I thought if I made myself small enough

I could fit inside the box labeled happiness,

and I folded my dreams into neat little squares

and kept them on a shelf labeled later.

But life leaks.

Happiness knows no box.

And who is this woman unfolding the dreams,

wrapping them into blue turbans, green capes,

and magic carpets of every hue flying out of the box.

Where is she going?

Dang, she looks familiar.

 

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Calling

 

 

 

There are tigers in the forest.

I used to think I was tame. No one

knows why they are given

a certain task. My task

is to catch the tigers.

We keep each other strong.

My arms are bare. My head

is bare. We stay awake. We prowl.

 

*

 

A friend offers me a bit of something dead.

What is dead is dead, but still I try

to make of it something useful. I tie it

to a ribbon of blue and cast it into the forest.

The tigers do not care for beauty.

The tigers care nothing for what is dead.

It is me that they want.

I stay strong. The tigers stay strong.

 

*

 

I walk closer to the tigers

until we are face to face.

I have nothing to offer them

except for myself. This is all

we ever have to offer.

The tigers follow me now.

Once I thought I was hunter.

Now I see we are all each other’s prey.

 

*

 

There is a room with no windows,

a room with two hidden doors.

I lead the tigers here, though I

have never been here before.

The first door closes behind us

and as the tigers explore

I push on the weight of an inner wall

and slip through an inner door.

 

*

 

Anything tame is a lie.

It is only me that I want

and I will do even that

which I think is impossible.

I do not need a weapon.

I do not need a lure.

I am the wall that I slip through.

I am the hidden door.

 

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After Waking

Beneath our boat

a swimming bear—

I tell myself to be afraid

but I’m too delighted

by its brown body,

elongated and sleek

moving like a wave itself

in the clear, clear water.

A marriage, too,

is a boat. Or is it

the bear?

Or is it the man

and the woman

in the boat,

watching beneath them

the most exquisite

dangerous thing,

something that could kill them

but chooses instead

grace.

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If I lay here, if I just lay here, will you lay with me and just forget the world.
—Snow Patrol

Like sipping the stars in water,
like hearing the sun in the stone
all the impossibles, all the fantastic
notions are possible now.

Like drinking gray sky in big gulps.
Like song spiraling out of bent wheat
there is improbable joy, my love,
in the imperfect, marred, defeated.

There are shoulds, my dear, and mustn’ts
there are cages we think are ourselves,
but night is here and soon there will be
nothing we can’t have.

But it’s not about the having
not even about the dream.
it’s about, well, darling, I don’t know.
Let’s close our eyes and see.

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There is the moment
just before you fall

when you know
there is nothing left

to do except
to fall, to fall,

to fall and say yes
to the falling, to fall

and feel yourself
as you fall, how the stomach

rises where the throat
has been, it’s silent,

then—and it’s fast,
you think, so fast,

you are falling and not
a damn thing to be done

except to fall, to notice
the air rush over the skin,

yes nothing to do but
to fall, to keep falling,

to fall.

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