the first definition of
being a
dream, when she wakes
up and spills her coffee
onto the red carpet
her dad had bought from morocco.
the azaleas stare back at her
when she crosses the porch
to get to her car which
is old and rusty and of a
metallic blue

that whirrs into a rebirth
when she starts it up.
Creamy sky and a pond
of equivocal thoughts
prod sadness into
the unbarred locker in her mind.
and the baker's boy still waves
at her when she passes him.
but he does not know
she will make her way
to the cemetery
and spend half a day
there, being only her
father's daughter

and all her other identities
becoming nobodies while
she
sits and dissolves
into understanding the gaps
in
losing somebody and throwing
the thought of not seeing them
again into a sea of doubt.


usually my poems are all about me so i decided to do something different.