Friday, July 25, 2008

Friday, 9:25 PM

I wanted to get up at 4 AM or so and write
down the troubling dream that woke me,
but I was so tired I wanted to keep sleeping.
So, I compromised.

Rouse yourself. Do not get up. Do not try
to reenter the dream and change it. But my heart
was pounding.

It was a film noir scene--black and white, rain
falling, red lights flashing in the distance.

I was accused of mudering a woman. I didn't
know anything was up at all until I looked around
the dark hotel room and saw a woman sitting
in a chair in the corner. She looked toward the door
and I opened it. I remember telling her to leave.

Two female cops came up the stairs to the room
to arrest me for murder. I can see my face--the look
of confusion and disbelief. Somehow or the other,
my oldest son was there (it was in a town I can't
recall but know it was about 100 miles away).

The female cops were brusque and cruel and intimidating.

I asked my son to get me a hamburger, and after he left,
smiling, which didn't seem odd, I ran to the door and said
And a diet coke. My daughter was there too.

Scenes flashed. The female cops pulled me out into
the rain in the parking lot and told me to look.

I saw a truck with what appeared to be a large
baking pan on the top. Someone dumped two
legs into the pan. I saw the legs and the black
high heels on the feet. I felt sick and said I had
to go inside. In and out of the room, friends from
years ago were talking to me, saying it's all going
to be alright. We'll be right outside. Then a woman
came in--a criminal psychologist or something.

Before she could say anything, my mind recognized
the legs and shoes. I knew then I was being interrogated
for murdering myself.

I did wake up and didn't get back to the dream, though I
had this feeling I needed to make things right.

I had another dream. I woke from that wanting to reenter
that dream, not to make things right, just to feel what
I felt in that dream. There was a young man, and I was
a young woman, and we had spent the day visting a site
with these huge statues, made of stone, some of them
frightening, some of them interesting, some of them
rather ordinary in all ways except for their size.

One was a ship, the details of the masts and the men
quite vivid. One was a fortress, moat and flags flying
from the turrets. One was a man, on bended knee,
his face that of a god, his eyes colorless and haunting.

There is more, but I stop here.

One friend called today. Tumor in the breast.

Another call. Family. Tumor in the uterus.

It rained all morning but it's hot now.

I think I should eat.


LKD said...

You were being interrogated for murdering yourself.


So, what do you think this dream is trying to tell you, Maggie?

I had 2 dreams back to back the other night about losing my cats. In the first, Bob and Elmo slipped out the front door without leashes on and I was running in the dark after them calling frantically until I caught them both and got them back inside. In the second, Elmo slipped out of the door of the house I used to live in and kept going--have you ever tried to lure a dog or cat back to you and they keep stepping away from you just enough that you can't catch them?--until he took off running and I couldn't find him in the dark.

I woke up and realized both were really about my mother's cat. My father's cat. It's hard realizing the little guy is on his way out of this world, that he's the last tangible connection on this earth I have to my father, other than my mother.

I'm sorry to read of your sad/bad news at the end of your post. You state it so matter-of-factly. It almost made me want to suggest it was a Kenyonesque beginning of a poem. She'd be that blunt about it. One friend called: Tumor of the breast. Another call: Family. Tumor of the uterus. Then moving onto weather and food. Yes. Forgive me if it seems inappropriate to suggest a poem from these simple lines. But I think, as James so often proves in his work, that the really good poetry comes from our real lives.

Maybe that first line about there being more but stopping here would be the last line of the poem. You write so vividly about the food you make and eat, I wonder if you'd ever considered including such details in a poem.

Again, I'm sorry to read of this sad news effecting your friend, your family.

I hope you are well, friend.

Maggie said...

Yes, for murdering myself.

No one said "kill"--they said murder...

apparently I had dismembered the body, and the only parts I saw were the legs with the shoes attached being dumped into the big baking pan. But it made me sick to look, so they took me back inside.

I think it's trying to tell me that I can be broken into all these pieces and I could have spent many years hurting myself by degrees, but I am still whole and so they had to be wrong. I just had to make them understand how wrong they were. I wasn't shocked in the dream as much as I was amazed that I was still whole and still there, no matter what the interrogators thought.

I think it's also trying to tell me to examine things more fully, to be more open about my life, to not let myself be dictated by fear, by darkness and people I don't know who come and go and who make assumptions without any proof or any facts.

I also remember thinking how damn fine my legs looked in those black heels.

I have been thinking about your mother's cat. So, he does have an inoperable tumor? I am so sorry. For the loss this will be in your mother's life and for yours as well.

And for connections with your father that he represents. Please keep me updated.

When I can write again, I know something about what's going on will make its way to the page. It would be helpful if I could write about it right now, but worry clouds my mind.

There are more tests to be done, then biopsies, then results of those, and then decisions to be made.

On top of that, the friend's son was involved in an accident--he has 16 staples in his skull, he's bruised and swollen all over, and he's in quite a bit of pain. But he will recover.

In yesterday's paper, I read that one of my former students was killed in a motorcycle accident. He was thrown from the motorcycle, it hit an embankment and caught fire, and so the volunteer fire dept. in that small town (it's in this county--about 5 miles from town) were responding to the call about the fire, and for some unknown reason, the young man driving the fire truck went off the shoulder of the road, overcorrected, crossed the center line, and hit an SUV head-on. The 27 year old girl driving the SUV was killed.

And on top of that, two little girls, whose families are from here, were killed in Louisville on Saturday while crossing the street with the mom of one of them. A guy ran a red light and hit them. He then took off and abandoned his car a few blocks down the road. The police did find him. Oh my heart just hurt to read that.

Both of the little girls have grandparents and great-grandparents in this town.

It just makes no sense.


I'm hanging in here, trying to be well. Thanks for asking.