Saturday, December 13, 2014

365 x 30 - Dinah Hawken

Lying on a bed with you
for at least
the ten thousandth time
I remember the dream
I had last night.
You and I and the young woman
you are going to marry
are in a shop
choosing a jacket for you
to wear at the wedding.
She chooses an absurd one
with taffeta panels on the front
and full gathered sleeves.
I see that your old one
the one you are wearing
is plain and smart. It suits you.
In the dream I do not speak
or act — I am there
as your friend, being reasonable
about the marriage —
but there is a distinct
holding in my shoulders
as if our days together
are taking a shape
that I am about to reach out
and raise
above all else
a double-handled jar
in which water turns to wine.
for Bill

Sharpe, I. (Ed.). (2001, January 1). Best New Zealand Poems 2001. Retrieved from

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