…only small shadows…
Dreamery #1
The scraggly disarray of an old farm yard
was the milieu,
not a real place in my memory,
but a scene I could understand.
The dream was realistic in its detail,
jumbled in its action.
I’m no farmer, I had no impulse
to harvest any dream theme,
I was there in fact.
I was a witness without a question.
I felt no urge to end it.
I had no curious thought.
In the old barn I sensed
a history in every damp corner,
an unfinished story in every heap
of debris that marked a process without progress,
in remnants of machines,
in the gear of abandoned projects
that made only small shadows
on the untidy floor.
The cowgirl and the kids who urged
their clattering horses
through this carelessly cluttered scene
were noisy,
but I couldn’t make out their words…
Outside a squad of ragtag soldiers
shambled into view,
wearing remnants of antique uniforms,
maybe they had guns,
with no fierce mien among them…
these were militia, maybe,
with no impulse to rush to battle,
no inspiration to huzzah,
no flag to die for…
Their leader was a faded heroine of dream time,
a broad-hipped fat woman
in some style of tunic,
no memorable face,
yelling for services and a campsite and supplies,
in some style of a martinet, it seemed,
but not convincing…
I sensed that there was no apparent reason
for this ersatz troop to be there,
it seemed that they wanted
to be somewhere else.
For a moment, I felt some sympathy.
July 27, 2017
Often I don’t remember my dreams. I was aware that there was no particular reason to remember this one. It was not a particular dream. This is one particular way of saying that.
My poem “Dreamery #1” was published in my second collection of 47 poems, Seeing far: Selected poems. You can buy it on Amazon (paperback and Kindle), or get it free in Kindle Unlimited, click here
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