A Dream

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I dreamed of
but wait, no one cares
about another’s dream
and the dead no longer dream
or do they
one day we’ll know

but back to my dream
that no one cares to hear
until their own dreams
materialize into conquered love

I’ll tell you anyway
you are free to listen, or not
I dreamed of a future,
impossible world
where women are not
shot up with heroin
between their toes while tied
to a bed, naked, the hulking
weight of a man with a wife
and two children, their photos
he proudly displays to other men
at the bar
grunts above the bound woman
who begs to be rescued

he pulls up his camouflage
trousers, straps on his rifle
there’s a war out there
someone’s got to fight it
he doesn’t look back at the girl
on the bed
she watches him leave
will forever remember his face
and all the others, etched, itched

I dreamed this girl travelled back
in time when she had nothing 
to remember
nothing to forget

For Open Link with the Real Toads…. 

This was inspired, if that is the word, by a book I read recently that I cannot get out of my mind: A Constellation of Vital Phenomena by Anthony Marra. The subject is brutal, but the language poetic. I highly recommend it. Hope is layered throughout.

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Blackbirds

credit: Tom Noble

credit: Tom Noble

 

In a faraway land

where prayers are recited

in a language

that is not English

 

widows and mothers congregate

in the cobblestone square

concealed in black

 

If you step on a crack

 

blackbirds

nibbling and pecking at the

shadows of former selves

 

they keen in the streets by day

and by night vanish

with their ghosts, into doorways

 

in tiny houses

windows, like open mouths

aim octaves of grief

 

would-be assassins

 

on the other side of the world

widows and mothers

crouch in the alcoves

of a silent church

 

shoulder to shoulder

they circle the globe

and when they take

to the skies like so many

blackbirds

 

the firmament darkens

and rain drenches

the ashes of ghosts