Posts Tagged ‘dream’

My Daily Bread

October 11, 2012


by Kerry Ellen


I need to tear off a hunk of quiet

And feed my blistering soul.

Rip off some time to just be

Like breaking a baguette

Eating my pain – pan – just the “I” difference…

So much disappointment

Like waves of nausea

Only settled by meeting basic needs

Bread – my favorite comfort food…

I wish for some of that wonderful orange fennel sea salt bread from Hampton Bakery

Another want ungranted.

Still licking my wounds

And blinking back tears

Filling a hall with my sighs

Not yet really letting go

Just allowing the dreams to drift away

Like ghosts muttering of lies

Lost love, life unrequited.

A snap in the air and I hear the rustling as again

I sweep my hopes to the side

Like colored autumn leaves

Beautiful but fallen

Dry but not quite dead.


Dream Child

January 19, 2011

Your home was once just under my heart. We lived as one, nourished by the same blood and food and oxygen. In time I felt your life fluttering within me, a tiny butterfly anxiously awaiting your turn on the meadow.

I passed the long months of waiting by dreaming of you, wondering how I would divide my love again, guessing what your looks would show, thinking of special names for you, preparing for your arrival, feeling self-conscious about the way your growth affected my appearance.

My due date came and went. Each morning thereafter I woke with the same thought, “Maybe today. Maybe by evening, you’ll be here beside me, nursing contentedly.” After several days, labor was induced. Contractions began, increasing in frequency and intensity as the hours passed. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth, don’t push yet, all the while the pains came faster and harder. At last you crowned and I pushed: again, again, again, then it was over. Exhaustion, relief.

You hadn’t cried or sputtered to announce your arrival before you were whisked out of my sight. In my peripheral vision I glimpsed a tiny gray something covered with the yellow curds of afterbirth. I was left to wonder while they ran their tests. The volcano within erupted; fear flowed and burnt like lava.

An eternity later they returned with feeble meaningless words of apology. Then I saw your frailness in the glaring light and knew my love and labor had been fruitless: I had delivered but my dream was stillborn. Friends and family were sympathetic, supported, but disconcerted. What words of comfort could they, or anyone, give?

I lay awake at night, unable to avoid the questions which ask themselves over and over again: Was it just not meant to be? Why? Was I being punished? Was I unworthy? I only wanted to love and devote myself to you, but my dream did not come true – Why?

I am glad for what little time we had, grateful for the hopes you inspired, but disappointed. I shared your life for only a few months – I wanted years. I must go on without you, trusting time to heal as it passes. Until then, I fight the rest I need, not daring to sleep, afraid of dreaming again.

By Kerry Vincent (1987), published in various magazines/newspapers

more ATCs

May 22, 2008

paintings by Susan Seddon Boulet, ATCs by Kerry.

Quotes, top to bottom, say:

Dream without limitation – claim your freedom (greeting card)

There is no old age. There is, as there always was, just you. (Carol Matthew)

Don’t compromise yourself – you’re all you’ve got. (Janis Joplin)

April 16 – Glass Class

April 16, 2008

blue glass rondelle (more…)

April 13 – Glass Class

April 13, 2008

Chihuly Neon Chandelier  

When I was a kid, I found a piece of broken cobalt blue glass, like from a jar of Vicks Vapo-Rub.  I held the piece of glass up to the sun, and saw a cross in the middle.  Being a pagan Presbyterian, I assumed this was a good omen and maybe it meant I could have a wish granted.  So I wished I could go to Sweden, land of my ancestors, when I was 17.

Well, 17 came and went, and then 27, 37, 47, and it’s not looking like I’ll get to Sweden by 57 either.  But maybe the real magic, the real gift, was to see the beauty of the light shining through that lovely glass.