Nightmares
by PB Rippey
Corporate picks up the tab on this Bay
visit, still i spend what i don’t have and
worry about it later, 3 a.m., after a dream
in which the plane carrying us to paradise
rolls belly up in the tricky atmosphere, heads
down as I press my fingers into your arm and
tell you I love you. Would you meet me on
the Other Side as you met me in front of
the little hotel, warm coat, arm raised as I
completed the journey of 600 miles to see
you? Call me, you said, when you are close,
our cell phones key in the neon-splurged
side of town, just down the block from
the best. Call me, you said, I will meet
you. Your face in the 9 p.m. wind—the belly up
of your smile, the smile I dream of when I’m
there, you’re here, worrying until—when?
When all hell breaks loose and runs like a wild
mare from the horizon to your dreams, her
hooves crashing the stars, the frenzy
of her noted eyes.
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PB Rippey manages the new Ph.D in literature and creative writing program at USC. Email: rippeyloo@aol.com |