I dream of missing planes,
my mother’s ghost, dressed in cold weather clothes.
We are in my grandfather’s closet, which, in the dream
is a ballroom fallen into disrepair.
I need to tell her she is dead,
but when I ask if she wants me to be honest,
“Not if it’s something I won’t want to hear.”
And I’m late for band practice, so I don’t have time, Mom,
to ease you into the Light right now.
“Can I have a beer?” she asks.
And there just happens to be a bar in the ballroom/closet.
Frantically searching the bottles, just to find
the wine racks filled with honeybears.
Wild oceanic subconscious,
sea of symbols & memories—each night
I find myself swimming in its depth,
a car wreck of the heart, engine parts
floating past old dolls.
One thought on “Dream Sense”
Very nice poem.