Old Dream in Three Parts: Father, Alien Flowers, Mother
May 29th, 2008
This is more than a year old. I found my dream-log notes on this and thought I’d post.
This dream, like many of mine, happened — or was recalled in — disconnected fragments.
Old Dream in Three Parts: Father, Alien Flowers, Mother I Meters hanging down, affixed to long metal pipes, surrounding my father’s bed, a ticking steel curtain; I don’t know and am afraid of what they measure. II Now a patch of forest, and squishy white snow that’s actually no snow but living substance: glad gateway to some alien land, grasping at my ankles, sucking at my skin in tickling welcome. I bend down, look closely: tiny, pale nibbling flowers with wild gem eyes. An old man approaches, skeptical, eyeing one of them. Vapor pours from calyx, makes him sing. And there he is, singing. He says: “I didn’t know it was that easy!” Overjoyed. And he just sings his song. Magical soft alien flowers in this bend in the woods. I hope no one finds them. I hope no one kills them. III Mom told me dad shot an alien. I was so so mad that she never told me, I was outraged. I suspected her of lying: “Then why isn’t it in the news?”
C. Way/ SnailCrow.com © 2008
