Dream poem

I travel through abandoned aqueducts
Visiting one house I have lived in to another
And places I haven’t been yet
My own waters of time

Pink gingham-trimmed canopy bed with a view of the sea
Child’s fingerprints in a 100-year-old concrete wall
Bumper pool table Uncle Wiggly Candyland wonderland rec room
Surreal party house with a host who wields a giant syringe

Yellow bedroom where that baby died of SIDS
Itchy checked red white and blue carpet den with sweet pipe smoke
Sun-drenched office with periwinkle walls
Red light hallway with the world’s loudest phone

Once I stepped onto the gravel driveway of the house I left before I turned nine
Suddenly pregnant, I headed into labor
A quartet of tie-dyed midwives stood by the weeping willow
They surrounded me and laid me down
“Push,” they said
I did
It was fast

They crowded around my baby
I couldn’t see it

They turned around
Handed me an oversized makeup bag
Glossy vinyl with a zipper
“It’s not ready yet,” they said

I unzipped it slightly
It was a big white pod with dimples
Sticky to the touch

I tucked it under my arm
And rode away
On my green banana-seat bike
In search of another tunnel

Copyright Tracy Zollinger Turner, 2020