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Welcome to Dan's Word Play - Dreams
Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.Carl Gustav Jung
Marguerite
The old pickup sat on the gentle rise of the meadow as though it had rolled southwest , down from the moraine rising to the east, and had not the strength to make that last small climb. Its corroding chrome eyes staring out across the ancient glacial lake bed of the Red River Valley as though seeking acknowledgment of its own age. Its body had shed the skin of its youth to become the color of Mesabi earth from which it was born. It waits for our company in the lonely meadow.
You found the world two years before me, but we found each other in that small town on the edge of the flat land forever ocean of the valley. We found the lonely abandoned pickup together, and we bounced summer days away, laughing in contra harmony to the sad squeak of the springs in the grandfather leather of the seat. We took turns driving, always southwest, always in some new direction on the compass of our imaginings. The wind gave notice to our passing, the prairie grass hissing as it swept the ancient body towards winter.
Then came the summer the bees took our red earth ride. They gave the sound of their life to the sad springs. It was the summer our mothers decided we were too old to take our Saturday night bath together. It was the summer we stopped riding together. It was the summer our birthday suit reveries ended. It was the summer you flowered, and the bees came, and I was stung.
Handbag
Your eyes move
through the light
I think for a moment
that you see me
but you are blind
I dream
that I am
the braille handbag
your soft fingers
going through
my contents