The third painting and poem from the You in Me series.
This Dreaming is Real
When I stepped onto the cold concrete and into the morning
To unlatch the gate for you,
did I become my mother 50 years ago?
My mother whom I never knew until now, saying good-bye to you.
Will I burn down the same barns as her?
Will my face connive to rotate into the same mask of grievances?
The ones she kept close and brought out again and again as if it were our fault.
As if her need was righteousness itself.
And what of you?
The fire you sling at the cloak you think is me.
Weighing you down and making you
Change your freedom ways.
Because freedom gets you high on promise and never makes you choose.
And so it is.
We start from here.
We think long.
Like the lines in your face and the veins on your hands.
The crinkles around your eyes. A long time in the making.
And yet. We begin.
When the darkness knocks. And it does. We let it in.
We ask it to sit down. We ask what. And why.
And we listen through our dread.
Do I fear darkness? I do.
I fear absence of light.
Even now in the midst of a bounty of light, I worry about extinguishment.
So what light do you see in me?
Do you see it still?
Is it the me that sees the light in you?
When the lights are on, the house is ablaze.
With love and laughter and good conversation.
We dance, wine flows, everything tastes delicious and the music is sublime.
I want to stay at this party forever.
That is my dream.
To embrace light. Bright, startling and intense. With no shadows.
Is this dream a lie?
Perhaps. But oh the dreaming, the dreaming is real.
~ Amy Moon