I sleep on his heart side. Even when I’m in bed alone, I don’t cross over the invisible boundary into that space where he would be, where he will be, hours from now. I count them down, even while I sleep, as my own heart stops and starts again in irregular, unpredictable intervals. In my dreams I’m waiting for him, looking for him, pacing the floors, the streets, the skies. At last his face floats into view and I relax as he comes toward me. I smile and turn my face up to his. Mi corozon, I whisper. He kisses me in reply and I surface like an erstwhile, reluctant swimmer from a cold and murky depth into the warm, aerated embrace of life. I breathe in deeply and exhale his name. For a moment my eyes flutter open, just long enough to take in the sight of him, then close again as I drift back to sleep, this time to dream that he’s here beside me, memories and shadows and ghosts unseated by live, scented, sense-evoking flesh, enfolding me, freeing and cherishing me, all traces of boundary released and soon, so soon, forgotten.
Archive for dreams
Heart Side
Posted in Prose with tags beds, dreams, hearts, jobs, love, missing the one you love, night shifts, reality, reunions, sleeping on May 18, 2010 by 1writegirlDogs with Mohawks
Posted in Poetry with tags burdens, conversations, despair, dogs, dreams, expectations, freedom, irony, life, mohawks, Poetry, rain, winter, wonder, writing, youth on January 20, 2010 by 1writegirlMy love and I
With nothing better to do
One rainy winter day
Took a look at my shaggy canine
And decided he needed a trim
We started slow
With a pair of shears
Behind the ears
Under the chin
And as we trimmed
We talked as always
About whatever came to mind
And the conversation turned
To the subject of what we’d imagined,
In the glory of dewy youth,
Our lives would look like today
I thought I’d be married, I said
As I swiped at Mugsy’s tail
Be grateful you didn’t go there
He grimaced
Believe me, it’s misery ad infinitum
Compounded by devastation
I should be teaching poetry,
He mused
At some prestigious, west coast college
Off came the left side of Mugsy’s beard
With co-eds hanging on my every word
Gone was his moustache too
I expected to be a famous writer
I exclaimed with an air of whimsy
As the clippers zoomed over Mugsy’s back
And flew up under his stomach
With at least one bestseller, I added
He nodded, I know, huh? he said
Then shaking his head in a daze of wonder
Started in with the scissors in earnest
I’d have a mansion by the sea
He explained with a faraway look
With servants to do my bidding
And an agent, an editor,
Stupendous advances
Fur was flying in all directions
Frenetic buzzing filled the air
And so it went for quite some time
With every word, another cut
For every lost dream
Another lock shorn
Until at last we were out of shouldve’s
And before us quaking in forlorn regret
Stood the product of our mutual despair
There was nothing left of him to speak of
He was half the size he’d started
And the only hair remaining
Was a strip from head to toe
A Mohawk of black and white
From his forehead straight up and spiking
Down his back to the tip of his tail
We put down the scissors, dropped the shears
And swept up the pile of fur
Thinking perhaps we’d made a mistake
Gotten too carried away
Until Mugsy stood up and shook himself
Then pranced up and down the room
Showing off his brand new do
Unencumbered, with nothing to block his view
Of cats and cars, food and chew-toys
And laps to settle into
I think he likes it, I gasped in amazement
He seems to feel freer, he agreed
Go figure, we said in unison
Then sighed and settled back down
To the one thing we both can’t not do for long
The process of writing our hearts out
To the tune of the pouring rain
Resurrection
Posted in Poetry with tags distractions, dreams, hope, legal tender, life, love, purpose, reason, resurrection, stumbling, unemployment, unexpected, words, work on January 17, 2010 by 1writegirlOne distraction follows
Another
In pursuit of
Purpose to daily
Life
When there’s rarely a place
You have to be
Nor legal tender
To be had
Yet who knows
What stumble might lead
To what
What you might find
In the face of
Life
Re-defined
By the unexpected
The way you can
Move through
Wrongs grown wider
While Reason escapes and
Reasons escape
As a heart
Wakes up one day
To something new
And old at once
And wants it anyway
To realize that
What you dreamed
Is dreaming now
Beside you
And the how or why
No longer matters
Hope is resurrected
One Winter’s Night
Posted in Poetry with tags bodies, closeness, cold, comfort, communion, darkness, dawn, desire, dreams, dusk, expressions, fear, freedom, loss, moon, night, reprieve, shadows, silence, sleep, souls, warmth, winter, words on November 28, 2009 by 1writegirlOne of these nights
When words are
Too heavy
When the darkness is
Too cold
Lay me down
Beside you
Flesh against flesh
Warm and tender
Under llamas wool
Let our dreams
Come and go
Like fingertips
Grazing temples
And souls
In the midst of breath
Between us
Loose
Unbound
And
Gentle
For the duration of
One winter’s night
One blue moon
One light in the shadows
From spellbound dusk
Till breaking dawn
Find reprieve
With me
In the silence
Of night
In the act
Of silent
Communion
Haiku #27: Visions
Posted in Prose with tags constraints, dreams, freedom, illusion, life, material world, needs, passions on September 17, 2009 by 1writegirlTo be free of needs
To pursue only passion
What Life might be like…
Dreamboat
Posted in Prose with tags comfort, dreams, harbors, lifestyle, living simply, possibilities, sailboats, southern California, the sea on July 20, 2009 by 1writegirlWet blue parking lot
Packed tight with boats
From dinghy to yacht
Moored to weathered grey docking
Lined by flashy gift shops
With touristy fare
Coffee houses
And seafood restaurants
Attracting small and moseying crowds
In the hot sun I ambled
Along the walkway
Gazing out at the maritime scene
While I toyed with the thought
Not the first time
Of living on a boat
Moored to a slip
Or out at sea
Or a combination of both
I scanned the harbor
Gazing down the line
Looking for the one
Just one
That would fit
Not a speed boat
Or a fishing boat
But a sail boat
The right size
shape and character
I found her at last
A gal named Sarita
40 feet of not quite gleaming
Not brand new
Wooden decks
With sea foam green sail
And whitewashed hull
Pretty
Without being showy
Sturdy and capable
Without all the muscle
I stood there for I don’t know
How long
Just watching her
Imagined myself on board
Pictured myself living
Within her simple, clean lines
Big enough for one
To live expansively
And two to live
In comfort
I left the harbor
Went back home
But still I think of Sarita
With her simple, clean lines
When I close my eyes
And dream
In comfort
Sailing Sarita
Through a Window
Posted in Poetry with tags dawn, dreams, illusion, longing, love, memory, passion, Poetry, reality, romance, tenderness, walking on June 8, 2009 by 1writegirlI am up before dawn
Walking
In the purplish grey fog
That cloaks the valley.
As daylight yawns and
Creeps round the corner
An icicle of sunlight,
Ever brazen
Pierces the shroud
And forms a tunnel into
The swirling mist
Toward a small house
Through a window
Where I see a pair of lovers
Lost in a tender embrace.
With calloused hands
He traces her lips
Gently she catches his finger
With the edge of resurgent hunger
Bait to a sated fish
Then buries her face in
The nape of his neck
Shy, playful, flirtatious…
For a long, long moment
They cling to each other
Rocking gently to and fro
To a beat only they can hear
They separate,
but just enough
For him to cup her face
Then he presses his lips
Against her mouth
While her arms wrap
round his neck.
I can see her tremble
I can hear him moan
I can feel a velvet heat in the air
As I close my eyes
For just an instant
And then they’re gone
In Her Dreams
Posted in Poetry with tags desert, dreams, empowerment, fear on November 17, 2008 by 1writegirl
In her dreams she drives across
the desert in a fast car
at night
With the top down, no seatbelt, and no fear.
In her dreams the sky is dressed
in deepest black velvet
studded with glittering diamonds
and a sash of pale, creamy satin.
The road beneath her tires
stretches on and on,
empty and endless
Her destination: exhilaration and speed itself.
In her dreams she meets a man,
an old flame who used to
put her down
Who reduced her psychological stature
in slow but steady increments
He says, ‘I want you back.’
She says, ‘In your dreams’
then her foot hits the accelerator
as she races away.