November #3

To sleep: perchance to dream…

I never know what to expect

each night I go to bed;

the ravelled sleeve of care stays ravelled,

tattered and in shreds.

In fact the action packed

into the theatre of my dreams

frays the fabric of my mind

and soundtracks it with screams.

I've swooped and soared above the clouds

and plummeted to earth,

borne immolation many times

relived countless births

from the point of view of mother

and from that of child,

I've even mothered fox cubs

then released them in the wild.

I've wondered where my husband is

while marrying another,

had long chats with dead relatives,

rowed furiously with Mother;

grieved for people still alive,

partied with the feted,

was once hailed saviour of the world

and simultaneously hated.

The only common factor is

my dreams are never bores;

I'm continuously fascinated

while my body snores.

— Michele Brenton