I had a long dream of a man
abandoned by a voice
he found in his backyard,
under the tree he buried his treasure
when he was little.
Little the sight he used to look
at the world,
little the way in which he talked
about himself,
and little, too little the way he wanted
others to see him – for who he wanted
to be – perhaps already was; yet,
I dreamt this man, perhaps my father
my brother, my husband or my son…
The man with the hands
that drew our house as it was
in my dream before I went blind,
blinded by the movement of an Era
and I ran away from home,
The man with hands
that lifted my mother’s sick body
to the city that chased us away, because –
our clothes weren’t ironed their way,
The city I swore would built a statue
in my image because I, I am absolute..!
In this dream, I’m standing behind the man
his back is a mural, and there are people –
countless, many the walks of life I took;
I recognized their faces.
The one that stood out is the face of
another man,
That man, I have his last name,
He and I were a union of sorts,
without children or the relationship
between man and a woman,
… his wish – and mine?!
I, when my eyes opened from the dream
and tears rolling down my cheeks,
I don’t know, I never knew
the language I spoke to my love – my home –
drove me away to a remote place.
When he turned towards me finally,
facing me – this man – in this dream, red eyed
perhaps from tears that never fell or
fury, fury at a fickle woman…
I, I saw myself as little;
Little the sight I used to look
at the world,
little the way in which I talked
about the world,
and little, too little the way I wanted
others to see the world how I saw it,
thought it could to be – perhaps was, and yet,
My love, or his, silent
untouched by our familiarity
had become a shadow we couldn’t escape.
That Gut Wrenching Poetry 