I dreamed I was young again
which seemed natural
(and woke up old again
which did not.)
I had on kicks that looked as if
they'd been left out in the rain,
buried in a mud slide
and chewed up by wild dogs.
Does a life get old, too?
When is the last day of school?
When do all these teachers
lose their love of lessons?
I dreamed I was looking
for new blindingly white shoes
to make my feet like new brides
puppies fresh as fabled loves.
I woke up gimpy, slow, sore.
A shining soul misplaced
in this beat-up box of a body.
It must be keen for a new ride.
I dreamed I was young again
but woke up old
without possibility of parole
except by the sleep that cures and mends.
_____________
for Word Garden Word List--Game Six.
Music: Grace Potter, I Shall Be Released
Process notes: I did dream last night that I was young again and wearing completely worn-out sneakers from long travels. I had it in mind to buy new, spiffy, blindingly white ones that day as I had another journey ahead.
Some years back, I had a dream in which I was vividly, pointedly, and emphatically told that April 17th would be my day to step across into the light. However, there was nothing about what year. And so, every spring I get a little nervous. In fat, I was seriously scared the first time around, but the day has come and gone several times now and like Elton John, I'm still standing. For the first time, I'm sanguine about the day approaching. If this is the year, I'm okay with that.
NOOOOOOOO, I will be watching for you to post on the 17th. I resonate with every word of this poem - love the new shoes like brides or puppies, and the dreaming young / waking up old. You are so right about the shining soul. I love this poem.
ReplyDeleteI really connect with this poem. I've been trying to feel like myself again. I've been trying therapy and it's helping, but sometimes reading words and poems just do something to me emotionally that nothing else can. This was powerful. Thank you so much for sharing.
ReplyDeleteI very much hope your path doesn't come too soon. There are still more wonderful words for you to share with us - Jae
ReplyDeleteOld age is a long march into loss, and I'm not speaking specifically of dementia, just the fact that we will never have those new bright white sneakers on our souls again. You paint the process like a renaissance portrait here, colors blurred by time, but value only increased in every moment left. Let us hope that the cruelest month spares you once again, and us all as well.
ReplyDeleteI dreamt of signing loan documents last night and woke up to thinking my landlord wouldn't like me taking a mortgage on his place. At least you were young in your dream. I'm just an old fart in mine.
ReplyDelete"A shining soul misplaced
ReplyDeletein this beat-up box of a body.
It must be keen for a new ride." Ha! I love that.
I'd be wondering each year, too, if this was "The 4/17" if I'd had a dream like that.
Your first stanza made me think--you're still young at heart, despite what the bod barks back at you. So, I hope your ticker keeps ticking for some time yet!
This made me sigh, for I feel every word in my creaky bones, but it also made me sigh for the beauty of imagery and economy of words that made me glad for gifts of poetry that are as lithe and limber as yours, Shay.
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking a lot about endings, unfortunately some come too early, and others come when life gave more years. I feel like your poetry has had a rebirth. You keep them coming and I'm hungry to read them. It's tough days we live in not to bitter. My poetry has been dark lately, yet I keep writing. If it is as they say, the internet never dies, I'm immortal. Loved all the visuals in this poem.
ReplyDeleteYour first stanza is where this lives - the utter daily surprise of WTF? How did I wake up old all of a sudden? When did that happen.
ReplyDelete