I used to dream of being chased
through the dim of a dark alley
bootsteps clapping pavement slapping
the heat of panting dog breath
taut restraint on leash
closing in on me.
I used to dream of driving in blackness
blind to the road beneath or ahead
foot leaden on the pedal
careening breathless spirals
before free falling tumble
down.
I used to dream of wandering lost
in a labyrinth of darkening woods
twilight turning
hopeless moonless sky
the scurry of squirrels
hoots and howls piercing.
Now I dream of crowded markets
a mass of masked faces
and hooded eyes
disembodied bodies jockeying
gloved hands grasping
towards barren metal shelves.
Now I dream of an empty esplanade
overgrown gardens abandoned
by the troweled troupe of volunteers
dusty dog run silent
river facing benches
shrouded with orange caution.
Now I dream of bat shaped drones
solar powered hovering
buzzing aloft
swooping circles
mechanical voice commanding
clusters to disperse.
The terror of my nocturnes
used to be the stuff of fiction
of horror movies and murder mysteries
of chase scenes and heart pounding suspense
awaiting a knife wielding joker faced killer
behind a closed door.
But now, in the altered landscape of my dreams
nightmares are born
from the substance of daily life
incubated in the dim light of cable news
and the Georgia font
of The New York Times.
Elevation Review, February 2021
Elise Chadwick 