Some dreams I don’t understand.
Like the one I had of you
inside a room named One-Two,
sprawled on a hospital bed.
“Found you!” I said.
Turning in fear,
as skilled doctors pull mile long ropes of brown wax
out your ear.
“Gross!” I giggle.
Next, they bandage your battered
right hand with beige hand wrapping.
Crimson blotches crawl across it,
leaking through.
“You’re hurt! Ohmygosh, who did this to you?
Can you write again? Please tell me what happened!”
“I’m all better now!” you tell me, beaming, unshattered,
holding paperwork in hand and standing
wearing circle frame glasses, red shirt, dark coat and cheery smile
waiting for the elevator door to open,
leave awhile.
Head tilted, I smirk, watching you,
hoping to talk, or something, maybe,
… don’t know what.
But the dream fades
succumbed to dark.
I awake with uncertainty
of the dream’s meaning
but the smiles between us
keeps me wondering…
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