Jun 7, 2021

Grandfathers. Dreams.


my grandfather’s hands ached from arthritis    

and it hurt him to write   

but he would write me letters when I was a boy    

urging me to pray, to be kind    

and to love god    

when I was around him    

he would teach me Catholic prayers     

and baseball    

soon it will be fifty years     

since he passed   

and I teach Buddhist prayers to my granddaughter   

life, I love you   

-jobe   


The lime drops to the floor and rolls under the table; you cannot reach it. It’s just that kind of dream. Whatever you want is always just beyond your reach. You can never do the thing that needs to be done. 

You try to explain something and find that you can no longer speak, or perhaps you find some odd phrase stuck in your mind and that is the only thing that you can say. No one in the dream can understand you.

The streets are almost familiar, but something about them is off, like returning to a city where you once lived, but now many years have passed. Much has changed. You never quite find the place you are looking for. 

The lime drops to the floor and rolls under the table; you cannot reach it. It’s just that kind of dream. Whatever you want is always just beyond your reach. You can never do the thing that needs to be done.

There is a lover for you, but you never make love. Or perhaps someone who is dead in your waking life is there in the dream, and seems to be well; you are glad to see each other. Neither of you mentions the death. 

Time passes. The dream changes, grows darker. There is rubble in the streets, buildings are in ruin, it is night. You are doing a job that is both familiar and unfamiliar, and you can never quite complete the work. 

The lime drops to the floor and rolls under the table; you cannot reach it. It’s just that kind of dream. Whatever you want is always just beyond your reach. You can never do the thing that needs to be done.

-jobe

LINKS -

Ren Powell

Bait the Lines

Hardcore Zen

haiku eye

The Urban Mermaid

HOOT, a monthly literary magazine on a postcard

The Slowdown

clay and branches

THOTPURGE

Summer's End

Medusa's Kitchen

The Middlewesterner

The Morning Porch/Patio

VIA NEGATIVA, purveyors of fine poetry since 2003

thanks/jobe

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