Fred Pfeil
The Dream
(for Tony turning 50; and in memory of Michael, Lynn, and Anne)
In the dream I shared with you
back then, Tony, we moved
through rambling ruins, a
rotten estate. We were not
alone; our hands joined us
to others. Those nearest
ones we knew best
and loved most: Lynn and
Stan, Anne and Michael,
Rich, Therese. Whose
hands exactly, though,
held ours I couldn't
tell you then or now, as
we led and were led
through shrieking rooms,
weeping doors, chambers
only winter light reached:
rooms with viscera for
walls, scars for carpets(
rooms torturers lit up as
propagandists brewed
tea(some, surprisingly,
so richly furnished, warm
and bright, we longed to
but could not stop; our
hands drew us on, visible
and out of sight, same as
those we hauled behind,
our coffle's weariness
made dance
only via the conviction
that up ahead some
must've reached outside
by now, even now
while we still moved
kept on moving
room to room
Fred Pfeil lives in Hartford, Connecticut, and works for his living in Trinity College's English Department. He is co-editor, with Modhumita Roy, of A Singular Voice, an anthology of Michael Sprinker's essays and correspondence, forthcoming from Verso in 2003.
|