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The Green Poem

by Dawn Bratton

This poem thinks green. 
you know, once an aura-reader at a meditation group told me I was

      green, I thought he was crazy
now a green moment has presented itself
this emerald expanse stretched out by the daughters of dream

the dream that knows it’s a dream (albeit a leafy mint toned one) 
Wake up! Wake up! I mean, go to sleep, go to sleep 
there there: the dream

the dream that dreams and dreams and dreams
the dream that dreams and knows it’s dreaming 
the dream that wakes and forgets itself with a headache 
the dream that postures and pretends to be someone else 
the dream that is eternally playing dress-up in the void 
the dream that talks to itself on TV 
the dream that overhears itself in the next room
the dream that makes too much noise and annoys itself 
the dream that wants to tell itself to cut it out 
the dream that should cut itself a break instead 
the dream that cries itself to sleep at night 
the dream that eats too much ice cream when it’s depressed
the dream that has a cavity in its right bottom molar 
the dream that worries about next month’s dental bill 
the dream that goes to sleep hoping to wake up another dream

the dream that is eternally searching for itself 
the dream that recognizes itself in a glance 
the dream that falls madly in love with itself 
the dream that falls silently on itself in winter 
the dream that grows under its own feet 
the dream that eats itself 
the dream that gives birth to itself 
the dream that is you 
the dream that is me 
the dream of this song, of life, every moment 
an infinite joke in proportion 
me,  the  biggest  joke  of  all,  my  entire  pretended existence one 
      monumental pretense
the dream that is always building itself and disintegrating 
the dream that rearranges itself in infinite ways 
the dream that is always returning to itself 
the dream that can only return if it thinks it left itself
hence, the Green Poem, both in thought and intention 
because only when a green moment has itself, does it recognize itself 
and I am so grateful for these cucumber and sage reflections 
I want to drop to my knees and cry peridot tears of forgiveness

I could spend the remainder of my life attempting to pay back this 
    verdant instant 
I hear purple goes well with green, aesthetically speaking 
are you purple? 


Dawn Bratton lives in the Bay Area, CA. Her poetry and short poetic fiction pieces explore themes of modernity, narratives with the past, the nature of reality, authenticity, relief from dread, and how to rediscover meaning in a physically reduced world. 

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