A DREAM ABOUT FIRE by George Wallace


sometimes when i wake up i have a lot of questions.
what do accordions dream about? what is the noise a child makes
when his parents have lied? who ate the dawn?
have you ever dreamed about me?
in dreams we see things too clearly.
in dreams we are ass deep in the voodoo of night.
i was in a dream, i was ass deep in a prison cell called you.
i was sleeping in a vacant lot, wind was blowing our house away.
it was springtime, i could hear flames swaying in the breeze.
spring was a fire burning in the sky, it was
the impossible expectation of birds.
spring was an interminable traffic light.
it was the sound of my own parents’ wedding bells.
it was a child that is being punished unfairly behind a green door.
when i went to sleep i was a child behind a green door.
when i woke up i was a bouquet of smoky hands lifting myself up.

                – George Wallace
                   from Words Dance 11, Fall 2007