May 2019
I'm a retired English Professor spending my time writing, taking the occasional photograph, trying to follow the Dharma. For more about me and my musings: http://www.michaelminassian.com
A SOUND LIKE SPIDERWEBS
In the dream, I’m getting a haircut
though I feel no draining of strength
or pressure on the brain;
my stylist, née barber, seems confused;
he fiddles with a few strands of hair
sticking straight up on the back of my head;
then wanders off to answer a phone call
in another room, the one in back of sleep—
other customers crowd around me
waiting their turn, then become impatient
demanding I leave, but I refuse,
sensing the dream is about to shift—
I want to be ready; I want to look my best;
next to me, on the bed, my wife, turns
& takes my hand; in sleep, she flies,
she says, without wind, or wings, or words.
*Previously appeared in Rabid Oaks 2018
© 2019 Michael Minassian
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF