Hitchhiking Through Dreams
by Catherine O' Brien
In the unstirring of the night,
our joy is omnivorous.
It doesn’t dine but gorges itself
on succulent sunbeams marinated in verdant valleys of endless trust.
We should approach it gingerly with downcast eyes
Lest we startle it or stain--
We don’t.
We pollinate the hours with conversation,
using our muscle memories, we collaborate
on a thesaurus of summer treasures.
We speak the vernacular of the butterflies fluttering in our stomachs
We build megacities of memories,
atop which we like to sit with our kicking legs--dangling.
We plan to live lives of indiscreet richness,
that’s where we see our fulfillment.
We are subject to a recurrent desire to forswear sorrow,
we enjoy infringing on its sense of entitlement.
We commit.
We exhibit the ordinariness of contentment on the daily.
At night is when I feel you most.
My mind sleets great big flurries of recollections
which have yellowed, softened, and curled at the edges.
I struggle when they fold at the edges--preparing to be diminutive,
to lick at sparks and burn.
I offer resistance.
I picture your face all winking freckles and endless grace
Upon waking, I frame that face
so that by day I can trace and at night I can etch-a-sketch in my mind.
In my dreams, you’re there
and we continue to be together
laughing tears and falling together
as the cold light of day beckons and smirks.
our joy is omnivorous.
It doesn’t dine but gorges itself
on succulent sunbeams marinated in verdant valleys of endless trust.
We should approach it gingerly with downcast eyes
Lest we startle it or stain--
We don’t.
We pollinate the hours with conversation,
using our muscle memories, we collaborate
on a thesaurus of summer treasures.
We speak the vernacular of the butterflies fluttering in our stomachs
We build megacities of memories,
atop which we like to sit with our kicking legs--dangling.
We plan to live lives of indiscreet richness,
that’s where we see our fulfillment.
We are subject to a recurrent desire to forswear sorrow,
we enjoy infringing on its sense of entitlement.
We commit.
We exhibit the ordinariness of contentment on the daily.
At night is when I feel you most.
My mind sleets great big flurries of recollections
which have yellowed, softened, and curled at the edges.
I struggle when they fold at the edges--preparing to be diminutive,
to lick at sparks and burn.
I offer resistance.
I picture your face all winking freckles and endless grace
Upon waking, I frame that face
so that by day I can trace and at night I can etch-a-sketch in my mind.
In my dreams, you’re there
and we continue to be together
laughing tears and falling together
as the cold light of day beckons and smirks.
Catherine O' Brien is an Irish writer of poems, flash fiction and short stories. She writes bi-lingually in both English and Irish. She holds a doctorate in English Language and Literature. Her work is forthcoming in Iris Comhar (July) and Free Flash Fiction (December).