According to common wisdom, every part of a dream represents a part of the dreamer: Every villain, lover, fool, and queen; every animal, each stick of furniture, the weather, the walls … all of the symbols, colors, and images … represent various parts  of you, the dreamer. In this regard, every dream is a self portrait.

Dream report 10/2/13: I am walking with my daughter through a field. A mule is is bucking furiously, and I tell my daughter to run down hill to the shelter by the sea and to wait for me there.

Self Portrait in Dreams

I am the mother. I’ve been doing my job for so long,

I could do it in my sleep: I protect, I correct, I implore.

Run! Run! I say. Downhill to the shelter, you’ll be safe by the sea.

I am the girl. Curious, unafraid. It’s my way

to explore. Dumb mule can’t hurt me. Nothing can.

Nothing can. I whistle my tune through the dark. Then I run.

I am the field, straw-colored and stark. I stretch

and I grow, sigh out stalks of long grass.

What goes on above me, I let it pass.

I am the mule, and I’m bucking mad,

bucking angry, bucking all that is wrong. Buck you

and buck you and buck everything, too.

I am the hill. I bow to the sea. I incline gently

to give speedy ease to her feet. Her feet flying

faster and faster. On my slope, she’ll know free..

I am the shelter. I am simple. I am structure. I’m wood.

I hold firm against wind and rain. And if you would

come inside I’d hold onto you, too.

I am the sea. When you run down the hill, I’ll

tickle your ankles. I’ll hold your wondering gaze

and send it sailing over the bucking waves of this dream.

© 2013 Tzivia Gover

ZZZZZZZZZZ

This poem represents the 12th poem I’ve written this month in an effort to write 30 Poems in November as part of a fundraiser for immigrant literacy.