What Dreams May Come

Last night I dreamt I delivered three babies

In a deserted mansion

Near the cape.

It was set like a horror movie

Lots of French doors.  Wide open rooms, dimly lit

And empty

Except for pregnant women in separate rooms

Lying on a mat, bellies swollen, aching

To give birth.

Outside there was a storm racking the siding

And raking the shutters.

In the beating rain and driving wind,

My cell phone wouldn’t work.

In the morning I had three healthy infants

Cooing up at me.

Although their mothers still laid prone, useless, [lifeless??]

On yoga mats on the floor.

I couldn’t get any reception.

Outside the sea was calm and the sun was hot.

I’m not making this up.

It was weird, abnormal, eerie.

What dreams.

Tonight I watched a friendly bartender

Measure alcohol into a cool glass and finish it off with

Salt and a lime.

It felt like a dream

I’d had before.  What dreams.

Especially watching that

Squeezed lime slide down the inside of that

Beaded, sweaty glass. 

It made my tongue pucker in anticipation

And my mouth fill with saliva.

My friend and I talked about

men,apartments,cats,dogs,families,babies,relationships,jobs,toothpaste,everything

And somehow I navigated myself home to collapse in bed

Pondering sleep.

To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye there’s the rub

For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come.

What dreams?

I don’t know what you want from me.

But that’s okay, I guess.

I don’t know what I want from myself.

How can I, when I’m dragged in different directions,

Waiting for a phone call or email that

Refuses to come, waiting

For someone important to acknowledge my worth.

All I want to do right now is to lay

Under a bright canopy of leaves and branches,

With you lightly caressing my hand,

Staring up at the pages of green dreams with dappled sunlight notes

Scribbled on their surface

As they shimmer, shiver in the sun-choked breeze.

Someone tell me I can suspend this July. 

Tell me I am exactly enough for you,

At least until tomorrow.