She drank coffee
at 4:29 in the afternoon but knew it won’t do the job on a soul that’s stopped dead.
And no amount of caffeine
is going to wake it.
It happened a long time ago, so far back in time
she can’t see
it, certainly can’t remember when a little girl of puddles and jumping, cartwheels
and skinned knees stopped dreaming. Mistrust
became more real to her than hope. Forever
uncertain, she lost
Step on a crack, break your Mamma’s back. Did she do that?
When mamma’s don’t dream children are left
to the Monsters — imagined enemies
everywhere. This little girl got scared, petrified and turned to
Stone, too afraid to live. Now she’s the Mamma she’s got to get up,
Dance in the rain, again! See
this is real, the bad dreams are gone.