Sunday, June 22, 2003
Cliff Notes on a Dream: the poem may come later
Slept. And overslept.
Dreamt. A lot. Pith, slogans, people.
Dreamt about "Sheila." Being tapped by the police.
Dreamt about "Sasha." Being followed by police.
Dreamt about moving. To places vacated in haste.
Dreamt finding the bug. Disguised as a spider.
Dreamt confronting the spies. One was Paul Sorvino.
The other not sure. Brian Dennehy? Tom Selleck? Bruce Willis? Sargeant Friday?
Not sure. Not Rambo.
Dreamt a poem. Recall the title.
Some of the Things that Go On
When Your Child is Murdered.
there's more. I may capture a poem from this after all...
Dreamt taking wrong turns. Tires sliding on slick.
Dreamt lights turning red. Targets on bicycles.
Dreamt cats that multiply. The goodness that saves.
Dreamt rescues and tortures. Tortures and saves.
Dreamt fear from a distance. Overcome and controlled.
Dreamt peace as a pipe-dream. As a friend on the phone.
Dreamt trash left behind. Was the clue to the future.
Then the telephone rang. Rang, and Rang.
Rory stood next to me. Missed it by a second.
Woke up. Got my messages. Overslept, missed a party.
Have an angel waiting for a call...
Have a Happy Birthday card to make...
Have a baby girl to thank...thank you Bekah.
One question: how can a dream full of a thousand people
not Bekah still be a dream about Bekah?
Love. Peace. Happiness
Notes: "Sheila" is a friend whose husband was murdered about five years before Bekah. "Sasha" is a friend who is fighting for her life. Fighting ovarian cancer, that is.
Who am i, what am i
A picture's worth
I stand on the sand, and I'm rocking grief to sleep in my arms.
Comments by: YACCS