When they asked
for my identity card
I looked in my purse
and found someone else’s.
And someone else’s.
And someone else’s.
But not mine.
But it’s me, I said.
I turned to my friends
so they could vouch for me,
but their word was not enough
to prove I was myself.
When I woke,
I leaned deeper
into my being, my breath
giving me what no card,
no word could do.
Even the flesh is a trick.
Oh, how the morning shines.
Posts Tagged ‘dream’
Identity Check
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breath, dream, identity on June 6, 2021| 2 Comments »
One Feeding
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cliche, dream, reality on May 30, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Second Chance
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, play, snow on February 16, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Next time the boy
throws the snow
at my face,
please let me see
an invitation
to play,
though it’s cold,
surprising,
his eyes bright requests.
Having Dreamt of the End of the World
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged armageddon, dream, gratitude on January 20, 2020| Leave a Comment »
I woke up giddy, because
on rising, there was still
a world. Snow out the window,
and a window! And a cover
on the bed. And a bed!
And a body that ached
from the fall in the trees,
but dang, I had a body.
And it woke up! And yeah,
there is work to do, lots
and lots of work to do,
and love to make and
messes to clean, and
yes, here we are to do it.
Ruth Dreams Me Safe
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, generosity, poem, poetry on October 31, 2019| 4 Comments »
She’s in a thrift store in her dream,
and though her daughter
suggests it’s too big,
Ruth buys me a men’s suit coat,
something to keep me warm.
Later she tells me the real reason
she bought it: she knows
I need the arms around me.
Into one of the pockets,
she slips a check for $100,
then asks her daughter
to give it to me.
I find the coat in a message
Ruth sends me on Facebook,
where the pixels warm me
more than any wool, more
than any fleece, any down.
How easy it is to be generous,
sharing our dreams, our thoughts,
our hope. All night I stick my hands
in the coat pockets. They are deep,
warm, full of surprises.
While I Was Sleeping
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, dream, poem, poetry, sleep on September 30, 2019| Leave a Comment »
And while I was sleeping, dreaming yet again
of being on stage without knowing my lines,
my erector spinae muscles decided to wrestle
with bears and my rhomboids crash landed
after the parachute didn’t open. My levator
scapulae muscles lifted ten refrigerators and
my trapezii danced in stilettos for hours. Is it any wonder
I woke unable to move my neck? There are days
we realize just how grateful we are for parts
of the body we never could name
until today the bodyworker wrote them down,
how lucky we are to take them for granted.
There are days when we wake and realize
how much happens in our sleep. There are days
we think how much easier it would be
to just end up on a stage not knowing
our lines. Darn those bears. Darn those high heels.
The Guru Said Stop Putting on the Brakes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, dream, flow, freedom, poem, poetry on September 22, 2019| Leave a Comment »
from a dream inspired by Sharon
And I tried. I tried.
Except steep hills. Except
stop signs. Except fear.
Then one day,
the brake simply
didn’t work anymore.
I thought perhaps
I’d forgotten which pedal
was the brake.
I tried flooring the pedal,
anyway, though I knew
it wouldn’t work.
At first, I hated it. Was terrified,
really. Then—right through
the intersection,
right down the steepest hill—
there it was, I was in it,
the flow, the flow.
The Dream Speaks
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, nightmare, poem, poetry, support on February 28, 2019| 7 Comments »
Some dreams are meant to wake us up.
Like the dream when the man approaches your car
and you roll down your window to ask him what he needs
and he speaks in words you don’t understand.
What? You say to him. What are you trying to tell me?
And he pulls out a chainsaw and thrusts it through the open window
and instead of recoiling, you try harder to hear
what he’s trying to say. What are you saying?
you ask him, still wanting to make sense of the man,
believing he has something important to teach you.
He is here to teach you some people are not safe.
And why is it your survival instinct is so slow to kick in?
At last you thrust the car into reverse
and swerve down the narrow road before launching
into the air and soaring, soaring away from the man,
somehow unsurprised when the car lands in a canopy
of trees. And you are unhurt in the arms of oaks.
When you wake, as you do, each time you try to return to sleep,
there’s the man again, his chainsaw reaching for you,
the evil snarl on his lips. Wake up, says the dream.
Not everyone can be trusted. Why is it so hard
to wake you up? How can the world support you
if you choose to stay with what hurts you,
if you don’t let yourself be launched?
Let’s Say You Dreamed that You Died
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, dream, friendship, poem, poetry on November 12, 2018| 2 Comments »
Which, they say, is impossible,
but we all know the impossible
happens. If you dreamed
that you died, then I would
slip myself into your dream,
which is also impossible,
but now we’re on a roll
of impossibilities. So while
we’re at it, let’s say that while
I am in your dream, I slip
out of the dream and into
your room, which is really,
really impossible, but
wouldn’t that be cool,
to travel through dreams
into each other’s lives?
And then, once in your room,
I would watch you sleeping
and if you tossed and whimpered,
distressed by your death,
I’d lay my hand on your head
and I’d say, shhh, it’s alright,
You’re safe. I’m here.
And you would settle deeper
into your pillow, and I would
watch over your sleep and hum
a little song about home,
and the moon would hold us,
because this is a poem
in which impossible things happen,
and its long silver arms would
be warm and tender and soft,
and I wouldn’t wake you
in case it means I have to leave
the dream and find myself
unable to tell you you’re safe,
I’m here. I’m here.
Four Poems Inspired by Art
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, ekphrasis, love, lungs, poem, poetry on August 21, 2018| 2 Comments »
One Blooming
looking outside myself
for my dream, when all along
it takes my shape
Thank You Letter to My Lungs
No matter the shame,
the fear, the loss, the pain,
you bring the outside in
and then share what’s inside
with everything else,
and rhythmically, quietly,
hidden and tireless,
you stich me,
unite me
to the cloth of all that is.
How do I sometimes
ignore the communion?
And you breathe on,
barely audible prayer,
weaving me into here, here, here.
One Reason for Clarity
playing hide and seek
with myself, I always win
I always lose
The Lesson
I said to love I am lost
and she gave me
a ladder, a leaf,
a crooked blue door,
an alley I’d never
traveled before,
a room with no ceiling
three circles, some green,
bouquet of uncertainty
scent of spring,
a small red window
a straight backed chair.
Still lost? she said.
Now share.
Expecting to Fly
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, expectations, flight, poem, poetry on July 8, 2018| Leave a Comment »
She tried to fly
by catching moths
and tying their wings
to herself.
He tried to fly
by studying flight
as if reading
were enough.
But in their drive
to fly they both
lost sight of what
they had—
two legs that leap
and run and walk,
and kick and climb
and dance.
The Thing Is
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, Ellen Bass, poem, poetry, self acceptance, trust on June 20, 2018| Leave a Comment »
after Ellen Bass
To trust life, that is the thing.
To trust it even when there are gaping holes
in the walls of your certainty.
To trust it even when your foundation
feels like a strange place filled with strange people
who all feel more at home in you than you do.
And when fear enters you like a bear in your basement,
or like three bears, all of them famished,
all of them rummaging through your emergency stores,
yes, when fear offers to give you its name,
when fear brings you a ladders and says, Here,
climb down into yourself, into this chamber
of strangers and bears,
when you would rather go anywhere but in,
that is when you step onto the rungs and go down,
one rung at a time. No gun in your hand.
No bear spray. No knife. There is honey
in here somewhere. And tea. So much here
to offer these hungriest parts of yourself.
And you are ready to make peace.
You are ready to meet them and share.
Overriding My Self Editor, I Share this Prose Poem
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, poem, poetry, prose poem, scatology on June 3, 2018| 2 Comments »
I wanted the artwork hung on the wall, a slip of paper with bright splattered paint. I had no tape, no tack, no nail. But strange, in the corner I noticed a small brown mound of shit. And strange I could not smell it. I did not know how it had come to be there. Did not know how long it had been on the floor. And for reasons I can only explain as urgent, I considered its sticky properties. The possibility clicked in before the revulsion. By then it was too late. I took my naked hand and smeared a brown arc on the wall, then pressed into it the art. It held. It occurred to me to be embarrassed. It occurred to me it was gross. Unhealthy. Unnormal. I was repulsed. And slightly proud in making due when resources are few. There was some pleasure in the way I shocked myself. Not with what I did, but with how I dare now to tell the truth.
**Dear friends, this is, of course, from a dream.
In the Dream
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, dream, life, poem, poetry on March 3, 2018| 2 Comments »
I choose to go down with the boat
and grip tight the rails—
and the blue water widens its mouth
and swallows the ship, pulls it deeper, deeper in,
but I can’t make my body stay down,
and I float, unwillingly, to the surface.
I wake, spluttering, resentful—
this is not how it was supposed to end—
though the ship was doomed,
I was supposed to stay.
But the sunlight has other plans
for me. All day, I wring
salt water from my hair.
All day the world calls to me
like a crow, start again,
start again, start again
Dreaming Out of Season
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cindrella, dream, poem, poetry, pumpkins on February 17, 2018| 3 Comments »
Say it’s a hundred pumpkins
and you need to get them all
into the car, but the car
cannot hold all the pumpkins.
A mathematician might tell you no,
it can’t be done, citing volume
and the properties of matter. And a fixer
might tell you how to tie the pumpkins
to the roof of the car. A Buddhist
might suggest you let them go.
But any lover will tell you
that pumpkins make good carriages
and that with that many pumpkins,
there’s bound to be a pair of glass
slippers around here somewhere.
And, hiding amidst the seeds
and the strings, at least a little
happily ever after.
Dry December
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged december, dream, drought, poem, poetry on December 5, 2017| Leave a Comment »
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.
Between
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, poem, poetry on July 6, 2017| Leave a Comment »
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
Big Escape
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, happiness, poem, poetry on June 24, 2016| 1 Comment »
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.
Calling
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged courage, dream, poem, poetry, tiger, wildness on February 13, 2016| 4 Comments »
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.