March 12, 2009

Apple Dreams

I stole a nap today
just before the sun took its final bow.

Swimming in the small pond of
my olive green bed,

I floated belly-up, two
pillows beneath my heavy head.

Awaking in an early evening dream,
I rose covered in apples,

all red and brilliant and rolling
off my arms and legs.

And as I stepped out of my bed,
I stepped onto the slick skin of an apple;

then sliding across its peel,
I crossed the hall into my little

crate of a bathroom. Flipping on the light
I saw an apple staring back at me

in the cabinet mirror hung precariously
above my sink that only spills hot water.

Stumbling, now blind with my
unpeeled eyes and waxy skin,

I fell back into the bushel of my bed.
I awoke 3 hours after I first closed my eyes.

My Magritte dreams now orchards away,
I opened the refrigerator and retrieved a peach,
felt and cold and sweet, I ate it, bitterly awake.