an unreliable narrator
Memories wrestle with reality
for dominance in my dreamscape.
The lines of past and present
weave and merge,
birthing new stories.
I run out of a house from long ago.
I scoop up a beach towel from today.
I smell tobacco of my then, and spices of my now.
I see you in the distance, and call your name.
So real, so there.
When I awake who will I be and where?
Consciousness pushes through,
forcing past, present,
memory, and new story into a detente.
but no longer warring.
I’m not sure what direction this vision will take, but here’s the starting point. I’ll let it sit a few days and see what bubbles up.Ⓒ 2019 Lisa Shaughnessy