Dream Pattern

Nothing exciting ever
happened on our block,
under the black expanse of sky
where we knew the big dipper would hover all summer.

Still, the crispness of it all
was enough to give the children dreams
of spaceships flying formations
in elaborate messages to the homes below.

While there never was a girl
in a straight-backed chair in the neighbor’s garden,
the order of those little plots,
with curling pumpkin vines,
and waiting salads,
made little girls dream every night
of princesses sunning themselves
amid rows of tiny green sprouts.

When we grew up,
only wisps were left
of crashing flowerpots or
nightmares of lost bodies uncovered in the woods.

The memories that hold
are mostly of friendly white spaceships,
summer palaces, and swimming pools
lined up in careful harmony on Hyacinth Lane.

– kw

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