The Long Dream Poem by Sally Evans
The Long Dream
The strange week I slept to dream
to accept strangeness
and tear it away – through great events.
When I woke my children were born,
my husbands worn, the winters
had become soft and warm,
'the war' was somewhere else,
I myself old – or young,
in tune with gentler time.
The long dream found through books,
through images and words
gleaned on the internet,
mixed-generation parties, intimacy's
merry-go-round with estrangement,
the week that made this world.
Whole worlds have taken longer –
but the certain delicacy
of interior eggshell pastel,
detailed cartoon, blueprint
for each cranny, for opportunity,
how patterns fill each space –
out of these memorably came
the strange, the seven-day world,
chaos reorganised, roughly
shaken alert in sleep,
neatened, and matching exactly
what it took to dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 10:11:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
