In This Dream

This day could have been a dream: I walked through the stone gates of an ancient-looking outdoor theater and crossed an emerald-green lawn to find a gathering of poets under a stand of pine. Sun misted through drenched trees and chipmunks scurried up and down the trunks as the poets read and a man strummed his guitar, bringing a sudden rain with his words. In the midst of it all, I read poems, but the poems were really dreams … or were the dreams poems? I couldn’t quite tell … Anyway, everyone in the audience had a dream to tell and their words danced together and formed this poem:


A Group Poem by the Audience at the Florence Poetry Society Festival:

Look Park, Florence, Massachusetts, October 4, 2009

Recorded by Tzivia

In this dream I’m stepping onto the train, following Emma, who had already stepped off the train.

In this dream, my friend was doing the hula hoop

In this dream I am punching pillows in the local strip mall.

I am tired, even in sleep.
In this dream I am murdering my ex-husband verbally — with my bare hands.

In this dream I am being attacked by a wild horse.

In this dream I am spending a lot of time with a fellow worker.

I am flirting with an old boyfriend — it is a bit awkward because I am now married.

In this dream I find a hidden room in the house I grew up in.

I have to match up shoes for firefighters to wear.

I am lying on a mattress of dead body parts — which poke me.

In this dream I am walking by the river and see a large green lizard in a pine tree.

I see a small boy trapped in a box car.

My big sisters still think I’m a baby.

In this dream I am running through the woods and I jump up and start flying above the trees and fields and everything —

In this dream my stomach feels funny.

In this dream I am at a zoo in the nocturnal animal’s house and a zookeeper is showing the crowd a blond bat.

In this dream

I was in a play.

In this dream.

In this dream.


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3 responses to “In This Dream

  1. Elise

    Lovely description of a beautiful afternoon, Tzivia. After our walk I went to an Evensong service, filled with music and plainsong hymns, and a brief but moving sermon. On the way home, through the golden light of a late autumn afternoon, a crimson hot-air balloon lifted above the houses. From such moments, abiding happiness.

    • Amen to that … let’s hear it for abiding happiness and the small beautiful moments that inspire it … not to mention the poems and artwork that celebrate it!

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