i’d just hitched a ride onto the tail of a REM comet finding myself alone bent over a kids 1950’s trike
one foot on the backboard between small worn tires the other foot pushed my adult weight along a cracked road for traction
the road reeked of Whitman & boondocks lonely grass plains littered with rusty cans
trash & broken bottles why were there cuts on my legs?
i was clutching a fishing rod while assessing the busy highway 17/92 in Sanford clogged
with noisy honking metal heaps -(or did they honk?) did i hear?
cars swerved & clashed like bumper cars on the daytona racetrack it made me stop
& wonder why i was there assessing if life wuz worth trying to cross that friggin’ street
i thought about what i’d passed to get to the road
3 dogs in a front yard who looked venomous & hungry & ready to kill me as the
paper cuts bled reminding them of fresh meat they wanted a taste of me bad but
were staked to short chains though they threatened & rattled their lean canine bones
until someone with no sexual identity leaned out a window with no screen & screamed for me move on & find a mentor
(wait, who wuz really barking? maybe my neighbors dog charlie had cut through the sleep barrier as he often does)
& before there were maddogs there wuz an old lady on the wet concrete in front of Sav-a-lot
stretched out moaning in a flowered dress one hand on a plastic shopping bag where an avocado had fallen
& was broken perfectly in half it looked so edible sitting there while she had a heart attack people walked by
as if she was invisible & since it wuz a dream maybe i’m the only one who noticed her plight except for
the vulture gnawing on her forearm i wuz thinking surely someone would call an ambulance
or make guacamole
& before i saw her there wuz a street of shredded paper someofit wuz sharp
that’s how i got the cuts on my legs as i biked along so i stopped to try & read some
of the shreds only to find it wuz ripped up photographs – it wuz my work
my own art sliced me up
my cataracts couldn’t focus on anything no matter how much i squinted
my head was getting light
the dream wuz in black & white except for the red tricycle
bleeding papercuts & the red flowered dress
oh- wait – the avocado was ripe & the dogs were blue why blue?
why wuz the color so potent?
& before the torn photos i had been walking & walking did i steal the trike?
where wuz i going? the fishing pole had no hook or bobber
no line either maybe it was Whitman’s walking stick
but how could i steer a bike with the walking stick
all I know wuz when i stopped at highway 17/92 and cars whizzed by
i broke outta that dream inna hot sweat blood pressure pounding
tired & weary I questioned my abusive yet eclectic sandman
(and charlie’s 5:30am barks) i heard them clearly now
it made me wonder about all the miles in dreams i have traveled
& all that i have not accomplished
& maybe i wuz the broken down woman alone & deflated but
i never wore red
unless i bled
nor shopped at Sav-a-lot
symbolism & sleep dreams & signs
my friend Leslie would demand i write it down flush out the details
i didn’t have time & went into the kitchen for my everyday breakfast of
brewed green jasmine tea & triscuits with a hint of salt
except there was no avocado
none to be found!
the lady in the dream had let it fall from her bony hand as
i sat in despair for all i had passed in that dream was the one item missed on
my list yesterday
that meant a trip over 17/92 to baggs produce so
i crawled back into bed and closed my eyes
i had to wake up with that avocado
i had to get back on that trike and cross that street….