For Big Tent Poetry prompt: Drawing Home
It was my intent to follow the prompt, but when I tried to do the drawing, half of my home kept falling off the paper. After numerous tries, I realized that maybe it was best to quit and not even do the prompt. Then woke up this morning with the edges of a sequence dream still lingering in my mind. I’m fairly certain it was the result of my attempt to draw my ‘home’ , because these individuals wouldn’t come to my one bedroom apartment, and I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about this apartment before. I usually dream of the many other homes I have lived in, until the last three years since moving here. This will be my last response to a BPT prompt for a while. I intend to take part in the poem a day for the month of November challenge, being offered at Poetic Asides, and will be back again after that.
Visitors From A Sequence Dream
Pope came for a visit
in full Pope regalia.
Just walked through the door
of my first floor apartment,
kicked off his real leather sandals,
pulled those heavy white robes
up over skinny knees and sat like me,
cross-legged on opposite end of the couch.
Didn’t say anything about how
long it’s been, and then the Pope
asked me for one of my smokes
and I handed them over with the lighter.
I mean, you don’t say no to the Pope,
now do you? We talked, laughed, kibitzed,
and cried at the absurdity of folks
who quibble over words of The Law,
and never find its Spirit.
The dream changed and two women
came to once again ask for ‘their’ money.
Seems they both felt cheated
from back when I was still a teacher.
One because I had audacity to disagree
with something she said, so she fled, felt ‘unsafe’
in my classroom. And the other, still holding
a grudge over something I said that she
didn’t follow or agree with. Sadly
shook my head, told them to look
around and if they found their money,
they were welcome to it. Instead,
they turned to vapor, disappearing
into non-existent woodwork.
Rolled over to sleep again, found
myself staring deep into dark eyes
of my favorite author, becoming
instantly speechless. His smile
was shy as he thanked me for reading,
then apologized for never responding
to my letter. Thought it was better
to get out of bed, clear my head
of this non-stop list of strange visitors,
while wondering if it might be smart
to start moving that bed by tomorrow.
Elizabeth Crawford 10/29/10