Archive for October 4th, 2021

Monday, 4 October 2021

Medieval Dream Poem by Lois Marie Harrod

In the middle of my middle age I awake
to my sister telling me she wears
her street clothes to bed, What’s the point,
she asks, changing? She’s angry.
Someone at the Senior Center
has told her she smells like a dog.

In the middle of the bed I awake
to my dog, wrapped in purple polyester
that she does not shed. She’s smelling
of rancid mutton, which I don’t like,
not even those little lamb chops smothered
in mint, chop chop, says Detective Frost.

In the middle of my mystery I awake
to Detective Frost, my hand numb
where I had grabbed the suspect’s knife,
clenched it as if my life depended on cutting
off my fingers, and in that life, it did.

In the middle of my sullen art I awake
to a knife slicing the Mona Lisa from her frame,
worried as I roll it that the great cameras
of the Louvre, all those pinholes into pictures
will catch me at work and I will pull down
my hood and hobble out.

In the middle of the night I wake
to naked skin, and this time it is you
touching me, gently, as I always wanted you to touch
me. Nothing comes of it as nothing comes
of most dreams, but you touched me.

From: Harrod, Lois Marie, ‘Medieval Dream Poem’ in Gyroscope Review, Spring 2021, Issue 21-2, p. 6.

Date: 2021

By: Lois Marie Harrod (19??- )