Dream Poem 100: Through the X of Pinking Shears
Scissors in the kitchen.
Table full of possibility
Popping and bursting with ideas and plans.
In my hand a pair of pinking shears
Their serrated edges
Waiting to decorate
With a row of miniature mountains
Or a factory roof.
The scissors X
Is a gateway
only slightly hazardous
Just avoid the sharp blades like Indiana Jones.
But once through
A whole world of pink rivers
Purple sunsets, golden mountains, green lakes and blue grass.
The sound of cicadas
Not too loud
My hammock and a sweet iced tea in my hand.
It is a high hammock
So my feet don’t touch the ground
There is a breeze
Sweet with magnolia blossom and grass
My eyes close in the warmth of evening.