Bacon on the Bookshelf

Yesterday in a fever dream
I walked through a forest of strawberry cream –

lay down upon a petal bed –

swiftly sinking…

sinking, sleeping…

sleeping, walking…

walking, waking…

among the hellebores who hissed with dragon tongues and cursed me.

Now – running – stumbling –
falling – tumbling –

into the bamboo forest –

where possums and lions and even coyotes haunt and torment.

Lost – the violets called me,

common henbit –

fairy spud –

the tiniest nubs on the redbud tree –

sang of light – and strawberry cream.

And so –

I found my way back to the ice cream forest
Where a little black bear ate an ice cream cone.

“Come here, little bear! I’ve had quite a scare!”
(My voice shaking, I barely spoke.)

(A dove saw it all from the old swamp oak.)

* * *

And while I was yet dreaming my Fever Dream of Spring, I heard this song…

* * *

“Raise my Ebenezer”: reference to 1 Samuel 7:10, meaning “stone of help,” commemorating a Jewish victory in battle. (Thanks, Robin Thompson!)

* * *

I lived on the moon for a while

With the dusty dune-dwelling sparrows

And odd signs and symbols, ever-shifting.

One time I saw a purple balloon
That had made it all the way to the moon

But mostly I dwelt in sand and clouds, alone.

Then it was time to come home.

Green had happened while I was gone –

And Blue –

And Pink –

And Purple –

And White –

And Yellow –

And now I remember –

They call this Spring

* * *

On the moon – on the day of the purple balloon – I found a small book. And in it, I found this poem I’d like to share with you.

Spring Morning
By A.A. Milne

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow –
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow –
Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You’d sail on water as blue as air,
And you’d see me here in the fields and say:
“Doesn’t the sky look green today?”

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
“It’s awful fun to be born at all.”
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
“We do have beautiful things to do.”

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You’d lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You’d say to the wind when it took you away:
“That’s where I wanted to go today!”

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow –
Anywhere, anywhere, I don’t know.