I’ve always dreamed in color. Colors that I’ve never seen in nature appear in my dreams. Lately my dreams have become more vivid, intense, problematic. With the confinement of the coronavirus, I’ve had odd dreams of houses. In one, my partner’s daughters didn’t think I was keeping him safe and threw me out of the house, so I wandered the streets. In the latest, I was confined to an old home in disrepair.
I've always dreamed in color. Colors that I've never seen in nature appear in my dreams.
But, yesterday, in a poetry workshop, when I thought about fantasy dreams, unusual settings, I came up with this poem. Enjoy.
Toward the Emerald City
Her footsteps swoosh through the kelly-green meadow
punctuated by tangerine poppies.
She breathes in the astringent scent of the grass,
then that of damp earth.
While she lumbers ahead, her eyes squint
against the golden sun to find
the emerald-jeweled castle,
framed in a sky of powder blue.
Her legs and arms start to swim in the heavy air
until, glancing down at the ruby slippers,
she stumbles, knees tickled by the grass.
As she inhales the sweetness of the poppies,
their sultry taste reaches the back of her throat,
the present slips away,
leaving her cradled in a grassy bed
to dream of Kansas in color.
I have recently retired from a marketing and technical writing and editing career and am thoroughly enjoying writing for myself and others.