In the depths of sickness and wilting under mounting tasks, the heart and mind mix fears, hopes and regrets into vivid dreams that are difficult to decipher. This week, as my fever broke, I awoke soaked with sweat and eyes welling with tears. A lucid sequence remained clear as day, however, and I reached for my cell phone to dictate a description of it. I expected the dream to evaporate into the ether of reality within seconds.
The poem below captures the scene in a way that is true to the words I spoke into the recorder. Interestingly, it remains vivid in my mind’s eye still. What does it mean? Who am I dreaming about? And how does it fit into my heart going forward?
I’ll have to think about it some more. Until then, I hope readers find something in it for themselves.
I don’t write very many poems anymore, it used to pour out of me but I rarely allow myself to get that depressed and I certainly don’t let my romantic self get so carried away.
This is an exception.
I Won’t Remember Her
She came to me in a fever dream, again
Walking on my left as we descend concrete steps
A stranger, I thought, her mom beside her
It felt like we had been here before
As we reached the promenade, I slowed
They kissed and waved goodbye
And she slipped her hand in mine
I looked surprised, I guess
“As if you didn’t know I would,” she laughed, then realized…
“You don’t remember me?”
My heart sank, weak words fell
“I lost all the good memories.”
She smiled and sighed
Her eyes went wide
And I wished her close to me
We shared one breath
“I do remember, but only from a minute ago,” I whisper,
“As we walked out…I felt the love between you.”
“I hungered for some too…”
She smiled and sighed
Her eyes went wide
And I woke too soon, again
Damn the morning light
It won’t be long
the tears are gone
and I won’t remember her
March 14, 2024
I tried reading the poem March 23 as part of the Conspiracy of 3 portion of the North Bay On the Edge Fringe group’s theatrical workshops and art market.
PS: I’m on deadline for the Spring Edition of the Back in the Bay Magazine. Subscribe by emailing your address to [email protected] with an e-transfer to the same address. $40 gets you the next four editions delivered, HST included, plus a bonus edition of your choice. Pick from the collection below.
Writer, photographer and proud father. My mom's family is from the Soo with its Algoma Highlands, dad hailed from Cobden in the Ottawa Valley and I spent my teen years in Capreol. Summers were at the beach on the Vermillion River and winters at 'The Rink.' Born in East York but Toronto never was my thing. Ever since a kid looking out the window on long trips, I imagined living on the highway in a little house with a big yard and trees growing all around me.
