The Situation

I don’t write about it because

writing about it

would be like the abortive attempt I made

in my spiral bound notebook –

the one with the mandala –

to describe the scene

with the wedding gown,

in the ground floor shop

of my dream last night.

The one with Winona Ryder who

donned a 1920s inspired

off-white sleeveless gown

(really, they were cap sleeves).

I opened the curtain of

the dressing room to find her

half-naked due to the

deep and dramatic V

reaching down her abdomen

revealing the

underscoop of her breasts

and half of one nipple.

“It’s beautiful,” I told her.

“But you’ll need to have it altered.

I’m worried they won’t be able

to maintain the look

once it’s fitted to your frame.”

She didn’t listen.

She told the seamstress to

press on and then, of course,

the dream shifted to the scene

in the ice cream shop

where the chiropractor I used

to know was offering me pills –

rat poison packaged as RU486 flavored

jelly beans.

They were red, with the taste of cherry,

and they made me gag as I chewed them.

So you see why

I can’t write about it.

There is beauty

and there is darkness

and they blend together at times

in a way that’s describable

but only to the point of

surreal not to the point

of understanding.

Not to the point

at which you know

you have  navigated

directly into my thoughts.

 

12 thoughts on “The Situation

  1. I also have a lot of these kind of dreams. They always leave me feeling really creatively charged and I want to write about them, but I never know where to begin. I think you’ve inspired me! Nice work.

    • Jen says:

      You’re welcome. It was impulsive but the result inspires me to write like this more often (soon after dream journaling ). Thanks for commenting.

  2. I’ve just had 2 nights in a row of dreams like this; dreams you want to capture but can’t, dreams that you feel deeply but, when you try to put them into words, the feelings dissipate. Beautiful poem.

    • Jen says:

      Thank you. I find I can’t — or don’t give myself time to –adequately find language for the dream. The children clamoring for me to get up and make breakfast doesn’t help, either.

      • Ugh I know! My son is off to camp on Saturday for a month. I feel I should be more patient and focused on him but already I’ve lost weeks of writing time. Bad mama. But I sympathize with you.

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