Dreams and Vines
By Heather Lake
Little light falls on my dreams.
Dark and beautiful they grow vines-
through my synapses jumping one to the other-
tiny trapeze artists moving
across the chasms of thought.
I pour myself a coffee-
my fifth one today.
I try to read but my eyes hurt
and I lower the book-
putting it with a pile of books
I want to read.
But I am distracted by life-
lulled by boredom and my bed-
and seem to never get to them.
I put on some music.
Opening my laptop-
hoping to create something that will be
as darkly beautiful as those dreams are.
The words have trouble coming today and
I feel frustrated at the blank page.
All I want to do is get all this out and put it here-
on the blankness
and off the balancing wire
in my troubled mind.
Another day I have not eaten enough-
nor drank enough water.
I have had too much caffeine
and not enough sleep.
No wonder why I feel shaky-
tired and worn like an old shoe.
I haven’t left the house in three days.
I am climbing like a monkey up these walls and
in my head-bells of panic are tolling.
I have to get out so I do what I love.
Getting on my bike I set some good music on my speaker-
roar through paths in the park as fast as I can-
laying out those frustrations under my tires.
Here on my bike I feel free, my anger shearing
off my skin from the speed and I am suddenly
untroubled by anything.
All my world right now is bike and music-
and smooth dark bike paths.
The sun on my shoulders and arms
feels like a silky kiss.
I go home renewed and the walls seem wider-
the air cleaner, the silence welcome.
I feel the sigh of happiness come up from my toes-
across my stomach and settling in the deep red
highways of my heart.
I do what I can to cope-
and forgive myself when I fall into sadness.
This is hard. What I do to manage is okay.
Just remember to sleep. To eat. To get enough water-
even on days I don’t want to do any of it.
I believe in coming out the other side again.
Emily Dickinson said
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops-at all.”
Or, my favorite,
“Faith is the little bird that sings when the dawn is still dark”
Sing. The dawn is still dark but the sun is coming.
