I dream of a narrow hallway with chandeliers one after another, an infinite series, an
Escher drawing. I am sitting on the front stoop, wishing for slices of time. I have passed
this building year after year, looking through the glass in the front door and seeing the
chandeliers against the dark walls and ceiling. It was near here that I took my son to a
playground with sprinklers, then to his science school. Back then, all was well with the
world.
I dream of lights dotting the night sky: stars, planes, or decorations. I walk briskly past
restaurants with low lights and elegant store displays of white coats I will never wear and
sneakers I will never put on my feet. But there is luminescent possibility, the probability
of hope drawn in lighted numbers.
I dream of beginnings and endings, of sweaters unraveling and fabric being sewn. There
are bits of glass on the sidewalk in front of a movie theater, and shreds of dreaded time
drifting from the door of a bodega. I look at fading numbers on my watch. I have walked
down this street year after year, no matter what happened: death too young, broken
bones, birthdays, graduations, new jobs and apartments. And I will keep on walking until
I finally can’t.
Elizabeth B. Morse’s poetry has been published in literary magazines and anthologies, such as Ginosko, Kestrel, Remington Review, and Downtown Poets. Her poetry chapbook, The Color Between the Hours, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2023. Her full-length poetry collection, Unreasonable Weather, was just published by Kelsay Books.