I haven’t been writing with any consistency since January, and what little desire I had to write all but vanished after we suffered a house fire. Still, lines pop in my head and poems come to me, and I dutifully transcribe what I hear. My writing energy and focus tends to wax and wane, and I tend to overreact and claim that I’ll never write anything else as long as I live. Of course, that isn’t the case.
In the meantime, I wanted to share this poem I wrote today:
In my dream, you’re standing
in a crosswalk, pantomiming emotions,
and I run toward you, yelling that
you’ll be hit by a car and killed.
“That’s what I want,” you reply.
I wake up and tell you the dream,
and in the quiet dark, you say,
“That sounds more like you than me.”
You roll over and go back to sleep.
and truth keeps my eyes open.