Not Quite A Dream Poem by Sophia White

My eyes slide slowly off the screen of the computer
To stare blankly at its reflection on the surface of my tea.
I tap the cup, and the reflection ripples. Looking up again,
I see my computer rippling, too, and as as translucent as the sea.

I get up in a daze to see my bed and my bookshelf rippling too.
Wandering then, into a hall that ripples under my feet, I strain
To stay afloat in this melting world. Outside, the trees and the sky
Are ripping, undulating as if washed away by an invisible rain.

All around me, the cars and the streets are rippling and fading.
Other people have caught on; they stand and stare as blank as I.
We nod slightly in greeting, but turn back again to the world.
More people appear from a melting bus that trundles by.

My stance upset by a rippling lawn, I grab onto a stranger.
We hold each other steady as earth and sky shiver and shake.
It’s like God has dipped his finger into the world.
I grab someone else with my other hand as the earth begins to quake.

Then the sky, the trees, the houses, all begin to fade and die.
It’s turning darker as the light ripples into nothing before our eyes.
A great mass of people, all holding one another aloft, we stand,
And realize the ground has gone and above us, so have the skies.

And then, there is nothing at all left to touch or hold onto.
There is only an unnumerable throng of people hung in space,
Each gripping another, unaware of who they have grasped,
Each with the same blank wonder rippling on their face.