I wrote this poem a couple of years back after a bedtime conversation with my daughter, Katie. She said, “Give me something to dream,” and I drifted off with the rest. This poem, actually, is nothing more than reporting in verse. Things pretty much happened as they are written. I’ll post poems here from time to time.
Give me something else to dream,
she asks me, eyes upon a ceiling fan
breaking moonlight shadows.
I had a dream in Florida
but didn’t bring it home.
I try to talk about the house
I grew up in, two sets of
bunk beds in a room, grape vines,
the cherry spiral staircase railing
that was chopped up once to save it
from a fire, then brought back in, wobbly.
The horse that liked to topple me
by walking under apple trees.
You cannot give someone a dream.
She wakes up telling of an endless street
where everyone answered the door and bought
at least one box of Girl Scout cookies.