Dream

There’s a strange mold growing
in the wine we opened

And I keep having this dream
where all I do is turn my car around
in the parking lot of a church

I’m in this little pueblo town
This town along the Hurricane Evac Route

Where people bolt themselves to the ground
like furniture
in the lobby of a blown away motel

Their faces stagger
behind a curtain of hot pavement

And I keep saying to myself
that we’re far enough away
from the ocean’s drain

That the women are planting giant seeds
instead of tiny corpses in the sand

13 comments

  1. Jeremy Nathan Marks

    This is excellent. I like how simply you present something with so many layers of meaning, so many possible interpretations.

      • Jeremy Nathan Marks

        I am not sure, actually. I have been having a lot of premonitions about the ocean, the weather, and the climate lately so this poem touched off more of the “sense of something brewing” which is with me so often these days. And of course the “Hurrican Evac Route” and ther “Ocean’s drain” are very tangible images for me (I grew up in Maryland and have spent much of my life visiting the ocean). And then there’s the church setting. . . I saw a mega-church, a true signpost of the times too.

        Like I said, I am not sure where this took me. I will say that it grabbed me sensorially as well as sparked emotional and sensorial responses.

    • Britt Luttrell

      I pulled over to write this in the parking lot of a Mega-Church’s opposite – a gravel circle, painted wooden crosses and screen doors popping off what looked like an old portable building. South Texas ain’t Maryland. But like you said, there’s something brewing in the oceans everywhere.

      • Jeremy Nathan Marks

        I haven’t been to South Texas but I have been to the south and I know the old churches in pine groves, the mega churches too, the incredible heat and the feel of the ocean in the still watery air.

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