In those moments between asleep and awake,
with dreams still sweet upon our tongues,
their fragrance lingering in our minds,
that is the time to decide if we are
dreaming awake or dreaming asleep,
and whether we want to keep our dreams,
make them manifest in our awakening,
or let them drift away unchosen.
If we awaken from – or into –
a nightmare, we are left with
the same choices.
We must choose well, especially with
those dreams that come
when we are awake.
April Fifteen, Tax Day.
Doesn’t much matter to me, mine are pretty simple.
No investments, no dependents, one job.
On the job that day, as a matter of fact.
Working the southbound toll booth
where traffic comes off the bridge that crosses
the mighty Columbia.
A truck has stalled somewhere on the span.
A state police car passes northbound and,
several minutes later, returns.
I flag it through; no toll for State vehicles.
It stops anyway.
“You’re Margaret, right?” the trooper asks.
Well, not really… that’s my first name,
but I go by my middle name.
My driver’s license, however,
would show Margaret.
The trooper, who apparently has run my license plate,
invites me for coffee when my shift ends.
I accept.
April Fifteen, seventeen years later.
That’s the day our divorce papers go through.
Like many other folks I know,
I do not like Tax Day.
Day Four of NaPoWriMo.
And now for today’s (optional) prompt, inspired by Teicher’s poem “Son“. One thing you might notice about this poem is that it is sad, but that it doesn’t generate that feeling through particularly emotional words. The words are very simple. Another thing you might notice is that it’s a sonnet – not in strict iambic pentameter, but fourteen rhymed, relatively short lines.
Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own sad poem, but one that, like Teicher’s, achieves sadness through simplicity. Playing with the sonnet form may help you – its very compactness can compel you to be straightforward, using plain, small words.
My post from yesterday was sad enough, but okay. In sonnet form, here goes:
I don’t recall the last time we had dined
with just the two of us away from home.
I guess we’d never found ourselves inclined
to try relating one-on-one alone.
Conversation did not come easily,
but not for lack of words that need be said.
In short, your failing ears could not hear me.
Nonetheless you’d smile and nod your head.
A gentleman you’ve been for all your years,
your empty wallet drawn to pay the bill.
You needn’t pay, Dad, now that you live here.
I bussed the table once you’d had your fill.
A nurse came by and took you by the sleeve.
It’s best, she said, that you not see me leave.
Also posting for V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #42: farewells
From where did you come,
and where did you go
before you came here to me?
What happened to make you fear
crates and loud noises and the prospect of
being left alone?
Who put you in a cell
with bars and bare cement floors
and people parading by to stare?
How did you choose me
to be the one you would enchant
with your soulful chocolate eyes?
When will I have done enough to thank you
for the privilege of walking this path
with you?
I can imagine answers to my questions,
but I will never truly know.
Of course, some questions have no answers,
and that’s okay. What matters is that
you are the answer to me, and
I am the answer to you.
For Emily and Bella
What Rhymes with Stanza? 