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all was as it was
but changed. the people, the places, the remembrances with the warts removed. back in the Twin Cities, we were, with everything going smooth. no mosquitoes, no humidity, no midnight drug dealers in the grocery store parking lot. all the bus drivers becoming the do as YOU pleasers, with curbside delivery, right to your front door. the rent didn't sky-rise and there were no "gentrifieds." and the cold wasn't so cold. no more 20 below. for once I could feel my nose. and my nostrils didn't freeze as I breathed heaving white clouds like an accordian. there were no more big city animosities, just love in a land of plenty and the serenity that a state of 11,000 lakes and treatment centers could well produce. and the young man who once slept huddled in his sleeping bag behind the bushes by 35W didn't freeze anymore. and the bawling red-haired man who screamed aloud and ate raw hot dogs from the corner bodega now owned a weiner stand and sold dogs by the score. no one froze in the bitter, harsh cold nor went hungry. the church food shelf hired us to be good will ambassadors and we got five weeks vacation like they do in Europa. we never turned away anyone. with every food basket we added a hug and sincere dollop of hope. all of our former fr-enemies had a true change of heart. we were greeted kindly everywhere; this was much better than a second start. I knew I was dreaming, but, oh what a dream it was. and finally, we were all together, the two cats formerly deceased with our latest cat too...together we shared the same antique bed Grandpa had lovingly made. the cherry bed I'd previously let somebody pay a mere fifty dollars for. the bed that was sold with its memory for a song or was it for a plane ticket to migrate west? had that been for the best? when outside a gentle, accepting snow began to fall. the kind of cotton candy snow, coming down, sprinkling, sparkling like sand. at times, coming in sideways, at times whirling, like my dreams, to surround me. the sort of snow that blankets and puts the world to bed so that almost nothing makes a sound. the sort of snow that makes you feel the peace inside, even when the weather gains momentum, becomes a blizzard, and the pelting of snow is like handfuls of rice being thrown at your windows, and the howling of the wind is some old man complaining about his bones aching in the cold. and you are inside, inside of your dream, warm, so toasty warm. and you are finally, with all you love, at home. Copyright September 6, 2013 All Rights Reserved By Author Melissa A Howells Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World (Dream> oh what a dream you are to go travelling to the places in and of the heart. ) Vote for this poem |
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