Month of Poetry #19: The Dream

this morning I said to my husband -
I think I’ll write today’s one about my dream

well. you could, he said,
but aren’t dream poems a bit -
I dunno. Generic?

listen, I say, it worked for Coleridge.
yes, he concedes, but he was high, sweetheart -
and a genius, with it

but my dream was so vivid, I gripe,
there was a car, or perhaps a bus; I was driving it
through a dark and crowded forest
there were stiff unmoving men in fatigues, like toy soldiers
barring the way to the lake
but I crashed through, and then
the sky was a vaulted majesty for a few seconds
then I was in the water, inside the bus -

were you drowning? he asks

Yes, Oh yes, I was,
the bus (or car) was sinking and I couldn’t – there was no way to -
I tried to wake up but my body held me under and I -

Don’t write about it, he says, rubbing my neck.
Can’t you see, it’s only a nightmare, a claustrophobe’s tragedy
it doesn’t mean anything -

No, I think I will, I say. Scatter the dark stars where they fall
I know it’s only a kaleidoscope of fears and sense impressions, it has no deeper truth
but it was so real, when I was in it -

it was so real -

- Kathy, 19/1/14