Copy

       You needn't interfere with the poetry, but you do.

       It's the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. 

       I long to 

       please

       hear your confession.

       As written.

       It's not the depth, the breadth, and the height.

       Don't add those commas

       please

       or those definite articles

       for god's sake.

 

       Follow copy.

Smile

     you are not heroic

     once or twice you’ve moved along

     away from a home you love

     toward those wilder places you fear

     once you abandoned all reason

     chose to keep living

     and it wasn’t noticed

     some have a way of watching

     not quite seeing

     they tell you to smile
     do something with your hands
     breathe

     when will you believe?

     remember to smile

Gone

     days on end, then weeks

     a white car would pass

     I’d look, wanting to see

     my friend, it should have been you

     once you were walking far off

     just rounding a corner

     not at all like a dead man

     for months in a new city

     there was one almost like you 

     in line at the bank

     registering for classes

     laughing with friends at a bar

     there’s more than one dream

     remember this dream?

     I demand an address or phone number

     you shake your head practically

     this is it, you say

     you can’t come see me

     as if to a child who must be made to see

 

     it isn’t now what it was then

     I don’t search these crowds for your one and only face

     my friend

     if you come looking for me now

     you won’t know me

     I’m twice as old as we ever imagined we’d be

Flight

I often dream of biracial people, men in particular, and I've worked out that there's a call for integration involved in these dreams.  I've established a personal meaning for this recurring character, and it's part of my dictionary of symbols now.  

This morning's dream felt like some kind of commentary on my established definitions---I'm still working it out:

I'm standing before a large mirror on a covered boardwalk near a sparkling ocean on a beautiful, sunny day.  The beach is deserted, as if it's off-season but just one of those remarkable perfect-weather days for a non-tourist to take advantage of.  I'm at peace and unencumbered by fear or any kind of need for something else.  The mirror reflects me as having long, ash-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and pale skin.  I'm taller and bigger, a plus-sized woman, unusually pretty and feminine.  I'm very surprised, amazed and encouraged by this reflection, even though I know it's not "what I really look like" to other people.  I realize, because of what I see, that I can now try flying.  In my initial effort, I'm flapping vigorously and my progress is okay, but kind of jerky and unpredictable.  I soon come to understand that by letting the wind lift, sustain and carry me, and using my arms more like oars or tillers, just for steering in this medium of air, I can expend much less effort while flying much more effectively.  I can look around, and get my bearings, and feel the joy of flight, by trusting the forces that carry me along.

Huh.

Brother

     

     

     I am dreaming of my keeper’s brother

     that our hands will fit together

     that nothing needs to be said

     he knows my story

     dreams are such stuff as we are made on

     today I am a traveler

     not remembering the way I came

     far from the one who would lead me home

     my keeper

     dark clouds have been gathering

     I didn’t see them

     my brother

     when I look behind

     three crows stare back at me

     the canny one speaks my name  

     but nothing echoes in this place

     there are statues where we used to live

     some duty’s been forgotten

     someone’s been missing too long

     what am I?

     if not my brother’s keeper

Claw

     be docile now

     each thorn blunted

     means I’m in charge

     for now

     I’m in charge of this one

  even so it’s squirmy

  unsuited to submission

  I can’t get hold of every claw

  it hisses and it still has teeth

  it hides with its wounds and snarls

  in a crawl space

  it disturbs my sleep

     I admit there’s a fierce unrest in me

     that won’t stay put

     won’t understand that you mean well

     won’t relax in your arms

     like it wants to

     though you've given so much

     and doesn’t really trust you at all

Life

a cabaret

but a dream

good 

beautiful

short

hard

a bowl of cherries

a highway

not a fairy tale

precious

worth living