The old dream gave way to the new dream,
because the new dream grew up and grew out,
and waited at the window black against the sky,
like branches of an oak.
The old dream didn’t end or crumble into wrinkles.
It simply slipped into darkness and found another home.
Each of us are containers of dreams for a time
visited by them, shadows,
background music, houseguests
hovering where the ceiling meets the wall,
painting at the edges of our lives.
We are reluctant hosts:
don’t interrupt my plans, my certainty
don’t ask that of me
don’t upend the teacups
don’t open that window to the wind
don’t make me crack the fear in my back
Most of us live with the hoverers like this,
turning over our shoulders, again and again, saying:
You again? Still hovering?
Not moving on yet?
Can I sweep you out with a broom?
Sauce bubbling on the stove
and teenagers at the table
and damp socks and the dog passing through
and then you: otherworldly thing,
asking, whispering, planting seeds —
I keep watch on you, and you on me.
I’m not sure how to bring you down to the floor.
There’s no braiding you in, or “incorporating” you,
For you would lead me out of this house
to a violet moon and black stars.
Maybe in the end, all the rest will be erased
All the parent meetings and the arguments and the noble gatherings at the table
Maybe all of that will be erased
and my life will be recorded as a dialogue with you.
Maybe the rest is a theater of noise,
and this conversation I can barely name
will come forth in ink, the real story of my life.
And maybe we were dancing elsewhere, even as I stirred soup on the stove.
Maybe I also lived under the violet moon.
I never thought I was only located here.
And how I suffered, when I thought I was.
– Tara Mohr
photo credit: Ganapathy Kumar
Join the discussion 8 Comments
excellent, just excellent. some of us will put some of our dreams on hold, to go after the bigger dream, the dream of a family to call our own. In doing so, our other dreams don’t distinguish, they’re still there, we just become to busy with the bigger dream. when the time is right, we never know when that can be, these dreams we put on hold will get there chance. sometimes these dreams may have to in their own time.
I can honestly say, if i tried to be a writer, 10/15 years ago, I would have had nothing to write about and back then when I had barely experienced life yet and I doubt I would have had the chance to share my writing as I do today as a blogger. everything in it’s own time.
Tara, that is stunning. Simply stunning. Thank you.
Yes. This is exactly It.
Your words took my breath away.
Beautifully written, and so very thought provoking.
sweetly perfect this monday morning – really wondrous
How exquisitely said. Thank you.
Beautiful, lovely, my heart pulsed at your words. Yes, we all have ‘houverers’ and sometimes we live under the violet moon. ~M
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