The Summer of Dreams

I hear a sudden shatter as I awake.

My family’s portrait had fallen on the floor in my sleep.

My window opens, reveling the summer.

What nightmare had I lived in my slumber?

Pain of love, the joy in hate, how can I contemplate?

I couldn’t stand those feelings,

those horrible thoughts.

I sit at my window

to look upon the beach. This is a wonderful place.

I am saved from the heat by a cool breeze on my face.

I close my eyes to feel the rush of the wind.

But my dreams come back,

but just for a second.

The cries of the hungry, the rage of the hating;

A war and fear they are all twirling.

I hear a fearful voice crying over machines and beeps.

“Wake up! Oh please wake! Please come back to me!”

Louder and louder I kept trying to open my eyes

To come back to reality and look at the summer sky

I heard a shatter and I was able to open my eyes

My best friend’s portrait had fallen from my Arms.

I looked back out to the beach

a single seagull above

so calm

so peaceful.

I stare across the white sand onto the sea.

I set my eyes on the sea unmoving,

undisturbed.

I felt like I stared out for almost all of time.

I hear the light waves on the shore

and I am without pain.

I felt free

yet I knew nervously something was wrong.

I felt tired all the sudden

but afraid to close my eyes.

I went to the bed to rest awhile but not allow myself to dream.

I thought I heard others crying as I looked upon the sky.

Then everything went black

all numb

as I started to fly.

Snake Portrait

Arkansas summer, honeysuckle, hummingbirds, brush off the dirt.

Heat beats, water rush, snakes slink, lizards strategically retreat.

Lack of shiver, lack of care, spending all day in the sun of Arkansas.

Grandparent’s house, grandfather’s beer, grandmother’s red hair.

Scorpion, black widow, tarantula, brown recluse

up the walls, under the sink, in my parents bed, on the couch.

Western Diamondback Rattlesnake, hidden copperhead.

Rattle, violin [Learn], hour glass, red on yellow [Learn]

Water Moccasin; black as space, she is face to face with me.

Her darkness runs across the surface of the creek, fast like hot lead through skin.

Water Moccasin; magnificent artist of motion, she is face to face with him,

Grandpa and his Ithaca double-barreled shotgun and it shattering the wind.

Sisters, they panic at the scorpions in the dresser drawer, their black stillness.

Mother, she fears the copperhead in the path, she hates it’s deceitful kin.

Father, he respects his own servitude to the brown recluse.

Grandfather, he fears for me, for being incautious, for being young.

I fear a loss of the trees, the creek, A Change. I fear not what they bring.

I cry at the moccasin’s blood in the creek, I’m naïve.

I laugh at everyone’s screams when a tarantula crawls up the wall

And now a gaze of a snake reminds me of me.