at long last come the cool winds, the grey skies- the harbingers of autumn and soon winter..a chill pervades the air and prickles the skin still shivering beneath thin summer sheets- it’s electric, at night- the slow sinuous winding wind weaves it’s way between the behemoth bulk of battered buildings..ha, it’s morning and i feel alliterative today- so forgive me..it’s time for breakfast grits and eggs smashed in, for violet’s morning specialty (only to be consumed in cool weather) creamy irish maiden..yum..it is irish steel-cut oatmeal with dried cherries and cranberries and walnuts and cashews and flax seeds and whatever else we happen to have and butter and vanilla soymilk and brown sugar. it’s heaven on a cold day..creamy irish maiden..but my cupboard is bare of any of those things- shall i go in search of grits? perhaps, perhaps..there is no bread for hot buttered toast and tea, another fairyland staple..tea, tea! i can drink it now! joyous occasion..
my dreams last night were disturbing and complex..
random remnants are as follows..
driving a school bus into the ocean
we, the schoolchildren scream at the approach of pounding waves
like the feet of angry horses
manes and nostrils foaming
we drive in and under
a shadow crosses over- i know what it is, instinctively
before i even see the forked tail of a mako
with one mighty flick of that muscled tail
he covered the top and is floating beside my window
this half-man half-shark arms crossed in the water
smiling at me
we converse through the glass,
i knew it was him- his eyes are so blue and so cold.
i am in the shop, applying lizard green eyeshadow
i am offered tea-pods by strangers
i offer assistance to rude and deaf customers
who bump into me as though i wasn’t there
i repeat my query in a louder voice and stumble as they whirl
those three dangerous ladies
i freeze as i catch sight of sharp and jagged teeth bared at me
in a 40 year old woman’s orange lipsticked warning grimace
suburban housewives turned killer lesbians
the leader grabs me by the throat and lifts me up, up
off the ground- warning me the whole time
they back me up against a door and want to see what i am made of
i am genuinely afraid of them
they lose interest in me and depart..
i watch a one hundred dollar bill float down to earth
no one else sees it, resting in the rotting leaves..
i think to myself, how often i dream about it happening to me
but the laundry must be folded as the new regime’s soldiers and inspectors
come in to make a random check- they are young and friendly, the new communists,
and so much more fashionable
than those crusty old bloodhounds we feared so much
sniffing out mutiny, betrayal, calumny..
these are okay and we compliment their leather and fur chainmail sweaters
and bat-wing mask spectacles- their old-style communist hats-
the fox-fur with ear flaps
especially.
they halfheartedly search the room,
but mostly we are just trading fashion secrets
how we love the new regime!