nick-fewings-589145-unsplashApril is Poetry Month; Poem A Day; No. 25

Let Me Elaborate

from early morning journal entries

I dream I watch him run
in the most beautiful teal silk lingerie.
I dream of not pulling out my ChapStick
although my lips feel shriveled.
Nor do I take a seat
when my hip feels pummeled
but every time we lean into each other
it is all I want.

I dream of living with grizzlies
and loving them, talking to them,
they teach me to hibernate
which for me, means write.

Then we are at a party
and the bears call me over.
“You can understand us, you know?”
“This is so weird,” I say.

I dream of babies. Sick babies. Sick mamas.
A baby licking the right ear of a kitten.

I dream that every time I hit the snooze alarm
it posts on Facebook.

I dream of being obese
having a layer, a flap, of fat
hanging below my belly button
so large that I can hold it out
like a shelf
and wave it like laundry.

I dream that I start the hug club
and it was a night full of hugging;
I woke happy.

I dream that my mother wants a cell phone
and that Grandma Chata cooks in cardboard boxes
she thinks that if the flame is low
the boxes won’t burn.

I dream that she looks so guilty and sad
and accustomed to being chastised.

I  dream that I am angry at a friend
so I pull off a lion’s toes
and throw them at him
one at a time
hitting him in the face
and the lion does not mind.

I dream that a friend cooks for us
an egg dish, wine, and quesadillas, maybe.
The wine container has rice in it
and I want to figure out how to filter it.
The dinner takes place in a group of buildings
in the middle of a busy freeway interchange.

I dream that I am in an old and bumpy elevator
with a mirror and I stand where the porter stands.
There are only two buttons
“dint” or “wobble.”
I speak to the girls  about a murder,
a double murder maybe, they question my concern.

I dream of trying on clothes or scarves
one has a spot, a white one
so I clean it out in a pond
the water turns brown
and I point it out to the clerk
who is exasperated
I say I’d pay for it.

I dream that I decide 2 things:
I will take a 3-6 month trip by myself and camp, to see if I can really feel the earth move and know when the rain is coming and to get that in tuned to the planet;
and that I will take a music class because unbeknownst to even myself, I have this love for games and puzzles, but since I am not interested in mathematics I might feed that part of my brain by learning music.

I dream of getting lost and refusing to stop to get a ride or call a taxi.
My phone breaks in my pocket.
I can barely walk as it is like moving
through cement and I blame it
on the wraparound skirt I’m wearing
I carry yellow laundry
I just want to find a place
to stop and fold
the yellow sheets and table clothes.

I dream there is a crying child
and my fire-breathing guerrilla
is no longer a guerrilla
it is a toy animal that changes as it spins.

I dream I am headed to an audition
for a dance production
but I can’t find when it is
or where to go and then
I am eating dinner out
with an unfamiliar family
and I try the dad’s entree:
white meat.
He said it was Bill Clinton’s hand.

Elaborate

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

https://www.pw.org/writing-prompts-exercises?genre=31

 

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