About This Dream… (for Stuart Brown)
i met an old man one day
he looked a little like me
he had grayish white hair cut close to the scalp
and eyes that pierced the soul
he was sitting in a rocker on the porch of some house
awaking from a nap as i passed
he kept repeating over and over again
“about this dream…about this dream…young man, you gotta let me tell you
about this dream…”
so i sat down
under the shade tree that hugged the house so close the porch was built around it
and listened as the old man spoke
he spoke of visions
of days gone by
of things that used to be
he rubbed the lines in his face for emphasis
as he talked of dreams…
he’d stop to laugh
with his eyes closed
as if to hold the picture…the image
within reach again
out of his wallet he pulled a crumpled piece of paper
the words worn or missing from the tear tears or age
laughed again,
refolded it and placed it back inside his wallet
then slowly began to rock
oblivious to me
oblivious to the day
i sat…still…captivated…
watching him – this old man
rock and rock and rock
and i wondered…what he saw beneath his eyelids
and i wondered..how a memory could lull him so quickly and calmly
into a daze/sleep
when he came back
to the porch
i said, “sir, you’ve lived a long time bet you have many more stories you could tell me”
he nodded, laughed, rubbed his chin
then looked me straight in the eyes and said,
“where there is no vision the people perish…just die right inside themselves…
curl up like lit bugs…i used to have a vision…now all that’s left of it is the paper i wrote it on
and the memories…of how i used to dream…dream…dream…
it was in my soul to do so many things…but i lost my faith battle…
thought i had to do it all by myself…didn’t trust, my jesus, to do the thing…
i died shortly after…not physically but here”
he pointed to his heart
as the sun reflected
off the slickness of his wrinkled hands
“yeah, i’ve lived eighty-five years but my soul man died with my dreams…
so you could say, i’ve been dead for fifty…
i should have taken the chance…gone for broke…i still dream sometimes…
if i had your age i’d step out on the water…
it’s a little too late for me…but not for you, son…not for you”
then he dozed again,
as i took in the words
and let them swallow me and swirl me
round and round
till
i woke up
with a great urge to tell someone
about this dream…
and to step out on the water with mine…
6 Dec 1993
Copyright 1994 by Robin Byrd
