I dreamt of Scrooge last
night, for the first time,
it seemed,
and with nothing
of the drama one
would expect
of such a visit--no Marley or
journeys in time, no
scalding jabs of damning
implication.
This was the Christmas giving
Scrooge,
reveling in tenderness and
bonhomie, the new Scrooge,
born again, gnarly faced lips
curved in smiling peace, happy
being alive, rid of miserly
contraction, free.
Free of obligation, free of
strings attached to expectation—
from anywhere,
cosmic, imagined, terrestrial! Free of
judgment and consequences and
worry and debt, free
at last of the gibbering,
howling madness the interminable
traffic outside his apartment
door incites--
the assaulting din of myriad
conveyances sparking
ancient fossil detritus to
rage muffleless or snarl
turbo’d farts of dinosaur
bequest.
Within the mute enigma of
merging sleep scenarios
where insights meld and part
in frail coherence, I felt his
serenity, unwavering
throughout, and knew implicitly
his silent language,
understanding it was mine as
well.
I awoke to morning light,
feeling fresh with desire
to make notes, capture on my
laptop screen whatever
remnants of my sleep’s
enlightenment had yet not
succumbed to wakened demands.
Then I remembered the rent was
due, and before putting
the coffee water on I fetched
my checkbook and pen...
m.d.
paust
Lovely poem, Matt. Yeah, not that easy to get rid of worldly duties and responsibilities.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Neeru. I've come to believe the best way to handle what comes into our lives, like it or not, is with good humor. C'est la vie.
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