A Dream Is a Door
I dream of an old crush
and when I wake, my heart
sinks because none of it
was real. Not him dream lingering
so close to my dream body. Not
his dream touch on my dream
hand. Not our dream air mixing
near our parted dream lips.
I can break my own heart, thank you.
You’d think my slumbering
mind could let it go– a two-decade’s
old love that never was. But here
I am, 6am, 37, & my heart twists again.
My brain is a series of heartbreaks
on repeat, the needle thumbing over
and over again the same scratch.
The heart makes more sense because nothing
makes more sense than giving love.
But to not let it go, to harp and harp
and harp– that’s lunacy, that’s sitting up
in bed one morning only to realize
I’ve never let anything go.
Not this crush or that, not the roommate
who hurt my feelings once, not getting
cut from the team, not getting second
chair French horn– none of it.
A dream is a door to heartbreak.
I open it. Stroll in. Good evening,
gentlemen. What’s on tap tonight?
I pull up my stool. Lean in close. Wait
for what comes next.
