The tentacles of the man-o-war
across the bay,
hard to see at first glance.
The iridescent bubble where the tentacles originated
couldn’t be seen—
was perhaps at the far side of the bay, by the rocks,
where children were splashing,
unaware of the danger.
The polar bear growled, reminding me
that I had to feed him,
that no time could be lost.
I threw the cold herring at his eager jaws,
making my voice firm,
There are more creatures in those waters, myriad predators and prey.
From where we stood,
the bear and I,
atop a brown cliff overlooking the bay,
I prayed for great turtles to come, to dismantle the man-o-war,
biting into its pillowed center,
snapping through the tendrils,
immune to the venomous sting.
All of this was beautiful.
All of this was terrifying.
Wrapped in layers of blankets,
lost in a hot dream
that isn’t mine,
I have a discussion
with words from another time
and prepare for an event
in a room I have never seen.
I feel a pain that isn’t mine.
The faces are familiar
The sights, the clothes, the events,
are exact, cutting, real,
but not mine. Not mine.
I wake, dried out, wrung out.
On the dresser, sits a broken bowl
that has been glued back together.
It is an object of another time.
I suspect it of containing the dream.
A broken bowl, glued, sold,
removed to a new locale,
holding an energy,
an energy not always contained,
but sometimes leaking out,
through the cracks.
It’s been an interesting week. My husband and I were just talking about our lives over lunch, and how busy we’ve been, and how we keep saying “We’ll feel less busy when…” but then we never seem to feel less busy. I’m going to attend the Writer’s Digest Conference next weekend in NYC, and I’ve been writing, editing, and prepping. My husband is studying to take the bar in two different states. I also have professional development for my teaching job next week and will be spending the week sleeping in a college dorm room and I will leave directly from there to go to NYC. These are all good things, but they do add up to busy.
Another challenge of the past few days has been an allergic reaction I’ve had to something (I really don’t know what!), causing me to break out in an itchy rash. As I’ve been avoiding scratching with cold compresses, cold showers and Benadryl, I’ve also been trying to get some stuff done. I think the Benadryl, in addition to making me feel drowsy and spacey, also had a hand in a VERY odd dream I had last night. This was the weirdest dream I’ve had in some time…I may have to think further on that–is an empty bedroom full of cockroaches symbolic of something? and a stained coffee table? and a navy soldier who turns into a gray cat after showing up uninvited to a holiday party?
Despite the odd dream and the odd reaction (please don’t let me unknowingly expose myself to whatever it was again next week!), I have been getting some writing and reading done. My allergic reaction is abating now, and with that I feel the renewed itch to keep writing.
I’m ready switch gears now, moving from blog to other writing. I’m Benadryl-free and not too itchy and listening to Jewel and Sheryl Crow. (I love So You Think You Can Dance! Did anyone see last night’s? It reminded me how much I love Jewel. Every week I watch and want to become a dancer. It would be SO cool to dance like they do!)
As I try to stay in my place of calm focus, my writing companion has no trouble feeling relaxed: he is an inspiration, isn’t he?