missed one

Because I went to bed at 10 pm. Probably should have stayed home. The antibiotics or this infection took its toll on me yesterday. Cranky one minute, in tears the next. Side effects. Plus a strange lingering metallic taste, especially when I drink water.

Didn’t take any percocet when I went to bed, but I still had incredibly vivid dreams. Or maybe it was just one dream with plenty of non-sequiturs.

My mom said my dad would be coming home from the rehab facility this weekend. Yay!

Today, two poems:

The Dream

the car could jump and skid atop chain link fences
I sat on the window, touching tree trunks as we ‘drove’ past
the unknown driver shook hands with people below

in the room, there were candles and a small girl
she took my hand and suddenly we were running
fast, scary fast, I had to let go

at a reserve of some kind, in an auditorium where
you had to climb vertically to get to your seats
then you enter a maze

from the maze into an open park, the girl reappears
I don’t take her hand and she is off, a woman nearby
says I can meet up with her if I go down this other path

behind me a massive hawk swoops down to eat something
walking backwards, I take photos of the enormous bird who
is now following me

the woman asks if the little girl owns a dog because on the side
of the path lies a dying dog with blue eyes
before I can snap its photo to ask the girl, the hawk takes a nip at me
the woman says that he’s just playing

suddenly I’m no longer walking, but crab-walking, still backwards
and a woman out of nowhere sits on my left leg
surprisingly, I’m still able to crab-walk with her on me
a second woman sits on the first woman’s lap
and we begin singing “The Weight” by The Band

we arrive (somewhere) and the ladies leave and I realize
I no longer have my phone with the photos of the hawk
I go back in, climb the auditorium, go through the maze,
go out into the park, when a door opens behind me, and
there is Han holding my credit card asking if I’m ready to go


Thoughts on ‘Shoulda Been Jimi Savannah’ (after Patricia Smith’s poem)

how you weave your words, string them together
so they look intimidating, yet they are plain English

how you must have disliked your mother, the way she
kept you down or at least tried to

how you occupy so much of your own verse, never feeling
sorry for yourself, but celebrating the you who you’ve become

how you, though I don’t know you personally, continue to
be in my life, illustrating, simply by being, that it can be done



2 Comments Add yours

  1. mama says:

    Love to read your poems, happy you’re writing daily! 🙂

    PS Heck of a dream!

  2. Sandy says:

    The Dream is trippy!

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