New Day, Old Dream :: A Poem :: #igwrt

Morning’s hours gone and I’m just rising,

The boxsprings complaining as always as I roll

Over the big bed’s edge and to my feet, my habitual groan

Comingling with their mechanical music, a melancholy melody

Serenading sardonically the prospect of yet another day,

& I’m sure that other people make very different tunes –

Whistling merrily, happily humming when they wake;

God bless them!

& I’m rubbing at my eyelids, wherebehind lingers

The image of Laverna

Of whom I have dreamt again:

Her white hair piled high,

Her mirror-practiced smile

Firm above her tiny chin.

I’m forever amazed at how lasting an impression

Has been made on me by this little once-upon-a-time boss-lady of mine –

Only a handful of tourist-seasons’ turnings we shared

At that Alaskan hotsprings resort she ran, where I worked

Lo now these twenty years gone –

Still she appears in my dreams.

Dream-Laverna proffers neither praise nor reproach,

Unlike real-life-Laverna, who was forever overflowing

With both at once.

My dreamscapes don’t revisit the extreme beauty of the resort:

The miniature glaciers surrounding the pools of steaming water,

The low rows of cabins – just careful piles of logs, chinked with grey cement,

The glorious mountainous surround, the aurora borealis dancing nightly

In those wild northern skies over the glistening landing strip

Where I met in an ice-encrusted van the little Cesnas full of Germans,

English, Japanese… come to that great white wilderness to play, no

I don’t dream these picturesque memories, but just

A prim, impassive Laverna.

rt-definition

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16 comments

  1. The description of what you do not dream of is also beautiful! Do I mention then how much one would have got connected to your thoughts on Laverna… 😉 I liked the way it gets repeated…”of whom I have dreamt again”… and “she still appears in my dream”

    Like

  2. Great use of sounds in this:

    ‘The boxsprings complaining as always as I roll
    Over the big bed’s edge and to my feet, my habitual groan
    Comingling with their mechanical music, a melancholy melody
    Serenading sardonically the prospect of yet another day,’

    Like

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