In the dream you want the right words
and I have them, but this is the wrong place. I can’t do this; I can’t say them; I can’t do that. The car: Why did we get out of the car? That wasn’t the right place either, even though it was while we were there, or at least the idea of the right place. Lost. Lost. Lost, the landscape so exquisitely familiar, but navigating it was something else. I wanted you, but you didn’t want to be wanted that way, the only way I had then and there. All that was in the dream, and as I left the dream with only the dream of you left in this real place I couldn’t remember your name. Every name I conjure is someone else’s, not your name. We sat in my car on the side of the road, and the cars kept passing, and we kept sinking lower in our seats, not wanting to be seen by anybody else. Then we went into the room, and it was crowded and filled with arguments. I wanted (there’s that word again). I wanted to be alone with you again in our flash of nakedness, but instead we walked around the offices in the building so you could leave presents. When we talked, it was about my grandmother’s needlework and a cat we were giving, or you were giving and I was just along for the walk: Giving this kitten to someone without even knowing if they wanted it, like I didn’t know if you wanted me to love you, or if the love I wanted to give you was the love you wanted. We tried to get back to the car, which was right there right, across a snowy field, but we couldn’t agree how to get to it, and you said this wasn’t what you wanted, not what you wanted my wanting to be or where you wanted it. There were other people around us again, and I woke, but I still don’t know your name, and I’m losing what you looked like, which would have been the key, or maybe I’m afraid to know because then I’d have to doubt it all over again.
I like your use of a dream in which the speaker (dreamer) is participating but also not able to control the unfolding of events, such as the gift of the kitten to someone not knowing if they wanted it compared to the love the speaker wants to give, unsure if the loved one wants it. Awaking not knowing the name and losing the image of the person deepens the doubt theme. I love poems sprouted from dreams.
Thanks, Shelda! This is pretty much a free-write after an “interesting” night.