I have had very vibrant dreams and nightmares ever since I was a kid. I also have gone through phases of being too stressed on Sunday nights before the work week that I needed to take a sleeping aid. Whether its Unisom or Melatonin, it knocks me out and gives me even more intense experiences.

So I have started writing down some of the dreams when I wake and turning them into poetry. I do not often write poetry because I am more comfortable in prose, though I am a huge fan of the formatting and emotional power of the artform.

The poem I am sharing today I dreamed about 2 years ago and keep returning to. I hope it elucidates the surreal grandeur of my experience, though I know it does not quite hit the emotional cord that I felt upon waking. Happy reading!

Do you know the way to UMBRA?
by Grant Pearson

I stopped for airport security – 
The badge, blue, and wands – 
For I forgot a knife in my bags:
Black switchblade, white scorpion.

They said, “Mail it, or we confiscate.”
Queue heavy sigh and surrender –
For clearly I was the rebel –
And laborious trudge to the mail tower.

A goth girl behind me grinned
In fishnet and heavy metal T;
Her conspiratorial eyes confirmed
She too was mailing a knife.

Pastor Sue consulted at my elbow,
Asked in her generic smile
If I had the directions.
I think she meant to Eldorado.

Proudly, I presented my sticky-note,
Orange, with big block letters,
And the ceiling a sky above us:
“I know the way to UMBRA.”

I filled the car with gas,
Said, “So good, it’s self-fill now.”
“I prefer that,” the shadow agreed,
And flirted with a flick of her lashes and boots.

I said it was good ‘cause I didn’t like people
And took the driver’s seat as chauffeur.
Content, I addressed the rear view in accent,
“It will be a 70 minute drive, m’lady.”