project 52 / week 13 / urban twilight

I stopped taking the pills
Now my dreams slip
They slide in and out of my head
It’s irrelevant
It isn’t real
Sometimes, I wish it were
Like when you hold my hand
Or when we stick our arms out wide to catch the wind
It slips too — the wind, right past the skin under our arms
Across my cheeks, into my hair
I wake, wishing to return

I dreamt I cleaned grandma’s kitchen floor
There was more —
But it slipped
I woke, feeling so alone

I dreamt of a compound
Where we all lived
Someone kept stealing shoes
So I went bare foot through yellow flowers
The flowers: the key to everything
I’d walk a section line, watching everyone work
I couldn’t feel my feet, yet I walked
Through prairie grass, rocks, and dirt
I drove the car, past everyone working among the yellow
They’d reach out their hands like the dead
Patrick was at the gate
He opened and saluted
The dream slips, shifts
I stir, barely awake and dive back into it

It’s winter on the compound
Someone stole our shoes
Gas is rare
The animals need to go to the vet
The car only moves a section line at a time
Stopping to refuel every quarter mile
From gas in old beer bottles buried into the ground
I wake, unsettled, unfinished

I stopped taking the pills
And now, my dreams slip
And I always have to start over