Sometimes dreams are worth revisiting, maybe especially a few years on. Now I am fifty-seven. I remember nothing from the list I made in the dream ... only that I could fill it halfway, so I somehow wasn*t done. I have the rest of that newsprint to fill before I*m done. I take comfort in my package of markers, with all the colors of the rainbow. I regularly tell people that there is a richness to being in one*s fifties, a richness I could not have predicted, a richness worth many orange Dreamsicle cakes. It is new territory indeed.
When I turned fifty,
The hundred year old woman
In my parish was soon to die.
Another woman in the parish
Made me an orange Dreamsicle cake
In honor of my passing
Into new territory.
I shared a piece
With the hundred year old woman
In honor of her passing
Into new territory.
That week I dreamed I entered
A huge courthouse,
Gray and stone and somewhat dim.
Many of us waited there.
While we waited we were each given
A Large piece of newsprint,
Our own box of colored markers.
We were told to list our accomplishments
Before we left by the door
On the other side of the building.
I began but only filled the page
Halfway.
I left the newsprint
Where it was.
I kept the markers,
and exited the building
The way I came.
I went back out
Into the sunlight.
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