Bridge of Sleep

In the dream, I behaved badly,
pointing a long finger at a man to shame him.

I felt the crowd turn against me,
angry and righteous. I had wandered away

from my friends to this meeting hall,
and now I escaped a dangerous mob to find them.

I climbed up on a concrete bridge,
calling to my friends,

who rescued me, who welcomed me,
though I had neglected them.

My father, too, had a dream of people
trying to work together

on a difficult task, their efforts ineffectual.
“I think I was trying to solve this war,”

he said. He immerses himself in news
to feel connected to the world

but the news is always bad now,
his world falling completely apart.

While it was hard and awkward to climb,
I am grateful for the concrete bridge.

It felt so strong, so sturdy—that it could
get us across anything.

I am grateful that my friends took me
back into the fold, like a lost lamb.

— Babs