Dream Tears by Will Dockery

Dream Tears.

Spanish guitar flutters.
It was 1895 or so,
I was in a dream.
I met my bride on saint George Street,
sweet brown nameless bride.
In the big clapboard city market house,
train station dream place.
Her eyes and smile,
her sparkle of wit, my dream wife.
We sit with happy conversation.
Across the huge room,
I see the drunken unreconstructed rebel.
Swearing and pushing people.
I nod to her
that it's time for us to slide.
We cut through the side room bar area,
crowded ---
I look back,
my heart sinks,
She is not behind me.
I don't see her anywhere,
among these happy ghosts.
I step out on this street,
waiting, looking,
no sign of her.
I step back in.
Coming through the opposite
far entrance I see...
The parade of proud klansmen.
It all becomes clear to me,
they took her.
My sweet smiling nameless bride.
I step back onto Saint George street,
salt breeze and fish smell in the air.
I sit with a group of fellow ghosts,
beaten and grey under an awning,
and I cry --- floods and torrents of tears.
Spanish guitar flutters.


-Will Dockery.

http://www.angelfire.com/al2/dockery
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Will, this is so beautiful. I think it might mean there was a snowstorm, and
that that night the troika was late, as snow drawn carriages often are, and
that the spirit of the evening was such that perhaps those waiting were
unduly anxiious. It was an ice castle, with green velvet drapes hung with
golden cord.

If a ballerina danced, it was like Isadora, not the style of the season, but
still so precious. Precious blood, indeed.

Linda

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Will Dockery <dockery.news.invalid.DeleteThis@web2news.net> wrote in message
news:48195N913@web2news.com...
 > Dream Tears.
 >
 > Spanish guitar flutters.
 > It was 1895 or so,
 > I was in a dream.
 > I met my bride on saint George Street,
 > sweet brown nameless bride.
 > In the big clapboard city market house,
 > train station dream place.
 > Her eyes and smile,
 > her sparkle of wit, my dream wife.
 > We sit with happy conversation.
 > Across the huge room,
 > I see the drunken unreconstructed rebel.
 > Swearing and pushing people.
 > I nod to her
 > that it's time for us to slide.
 > We cut through the side room bar area,
 > crowded ---
 > I look back,
 > my heart sinks,
 > She is not behind me.
 > I don't see her anywhere,
 > among these happy ghosts.
 > I step out on this street,
 > waiting, looking,
 > no sign of her.
 > I step back in.
 > Coming through the opposite
 > far entrance I see...
 > The parade of proud klansmen.
 > It all becomes clear to me,
 > they took her.
 > My sweet smiling nameless bride.
 > I step back onto Saint George street,
 > salt breeze and fish smell in the air.
 > I sit with a group of fellow ghosts,
 > beaten and grey under an awning,
 > and I cry --- floods and torrents of tears.
 > Spanish guitar flutters.
 >
 >
 > -Will Dockery.
 >
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