August
August again. Everything stands still. I say the air
is sagging with moisture & my sister jokes
that most people would just say it’s about to rain.
I thought writing down all my plans for the year
would be enough. I dreamed I was a best-selling poet
& people were waiting in a long line
outside Barnes & Noble for my book signing.
In one man’s copy I wrote I want to be carried away
in the ocean of a beautiful poem, to be lapped up
& wrapped in the arms of a gentle & terrible sea.
I spin the globe on my nightstand—
all that merciless ocean. One August, I was pummeled
by a wave, unable to decide quickly enough
whether to jump over or dive through.
It spun me round & round, everything swirling
with vacant blackness. I hobbled
back to shore shaking, spitting up salt water.
Yes, my world feels small—
especially when I’m faced with, say, the Atlantic.
In my dream, a woman at my book signing
asked me to write a message to her daughter. I wrote
New year, new me. Except it’s August, & I’m exactly the same.
Dream Journal for Insomniacs
*
A man is carrying a yellow guitar from his yellow guitar collection. His wife does not like it when I call him Languid. But that’s his nickname. Languid. I knock on his guitar, but there’s no one home. It sounds like silence swallowing itself.
*
The grocery store magician picks me up by the back of my pink and white gingham dress and drops me into a top hat. The orange moon sinks beneath the mountains, and sparrows nap on my outstretched hands. My mind jumps between thoughts like it’s skipping rocks on a frozen lake.
*
I am circling a school hallway at night. All of the exits are barred from the inside with broomsticks. An older woman walking her dog picks up a quarter off the linoleum floor and says, See? It pays to walk. Utility poles cast long-legged shadows across our faces.
*
There are five shadows on the wall. One of them says his master is the hand of artist Marc Chagall. The shadows are part of a night circus. They are walking a tightrope across my dreams. If they fall, we all die. My wolf hand opens its mouth.