The dreams are stored
somewhere in the back.
Behind the stacks
of old memories,
picnics,
birthdays,
your first puppy.
You had to give him away
when you moved.
Tuck that one deep.
And the trick is,
to unpack all of
the shit
find your dream
hanging there
on the hook
where you left it,
and try it to see
if it fits.
2 comments:
I've got nothing
I think you've actually got something here. I like the matter-of-factness of the first line followed by the listing of things that become buried because they're too painful, and neglected dreams are no exception. The last line bookends this poem beautifully. I like how the dream hangs and might or might not fit. It's a slight twist on "skeletons in the closet" which fits in with your idiom poems.
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