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a child has a bucket
the kind you use by the seashore and he is scooping with all his might right in the middle of my chest it aches in there it has ached for quite some time I ask this too brightly smiling child to give me back what's in the middle of my chest but he smiles only just a little bit more too brightly and then he pinches the corners of his eyes into a glare like they were pulled seams I become frightened I don't think he is a real child anymore I put out my arms in some pantomime of protection this is not the seashore no Sir-ee I hear no gulls no waves the air is not moving it is neither cool nor hot it does not even seem to be a real place the child shows me his shovel again and I decide to break it in two he looks mighty angry with me bares two long red incisors licks them with a long black forked tongue and then begins to give chase its not easy to get away in the sand in no-count flip-flop shoes in the distance I look up see my people cheering me on like I am in some kind of race I look down the flip flops have vanished in their place I've sprouted feathers at my ankles and I feel an itch near each shoulder blade wings leaving the ground I land next to all my people they are shining silvery-golden half-smiling I don't know if I'm amazed confused or relieved they speak to me with their thoughts when I look back at the grinning fiendish child he's stopped in his tracks there's a pointed scepter in his hands his face is red and he has sprouted great horns "congratulations!" says the thought of one of my shining relatives you are safe now whoa, thank goodness for lucid dreaming. copyright August 15, 2014 Writer reserves all legal rights to her poetry, stories, ideas, rants et cetera. All I can attribute this one to is all the 90 plus weather we've been having lately Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World for those of you who don't know what lucid dreaming is...look it up, you will learn something interesting. Vote for this poem |
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