Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Souvenirs From Dreams

She believed
She believed with all the faith
her tender five year-old soul could hold
More than she believed in God
More than Heaven
More than even her own name
She believed
that dreaming and waking
were just different rooms
in the same house
She believed
boundaries were permeable
She could travel thresholds
of unconscious to conscious
like she traversed bedroom to kitchen
and back
She believed
if she really tried
she could return from her dreams
with some souvenir
like when she returned to her room
with a cookie from the cupboard
She believed this so strongly
that each night she would try to grasp some trinket
from dreaming
and wake with it in her hand
But each morning she awoke 
empty handed
her dream object faint and 
fading into the evasive penumbra of night
a  beautiful shell she tried to snatch from the ocean
just as a huge wave washed her under
She would finally stand
gripping nothing
but sand.


Kerry O'Connor said...

She believed
that dreaming and waking
were just different rooms
in the same house..

There's an idea to blow my mind wide open to a new way of seeing things.

Fireblossom said...

Oh, she sounds like me. Just like me.

I was just wondering where you'd gotten off to, Mousey.

hedgewitch said...

This is just a perfect response to the prompt, LM. I love the idea of wandering from room to room, mind to reality, sleeping to waking...and what we have to show for it is often so intangible that it eludes us completely for years. I also like the child as the subject--that seems very much in keeping with how we find ourselves through dreams. Thanks so much for writing to my challenge.

Mynx said...


Marcoantonio Arellano said...

wonderful! like Fireblossom, i ask the same...where you'd gotten off to, mousey?

this is lovely and stimulating, mi amiga

Kim Nelson said...

That kind of vision and faith is delightful. Thank you for articulating it so beautifully.

Helena said...

Another cracking Lola poem. Even the very title of your piece promises an interesting read!