…and the dreams,
that you dare to
dream really
do come true.
--From “Over
the Rainbow”
By Harold Arlen & E.Y. Harburg
Somewhere
In 1939,
the year my mother was born,
Judy Garland sang “Over the Rainbow” as she filmed the Wizard of Oz.
That song almost didn’t make the cut…almost.
My mother sang it to me
but, never spoke of dreams.
Somewhere they are burning leaves
in that place of mine where the lonely, restless, outcasts
of life
gather: an empty spot where we are everything and nothing,
like the pipedreams of my father:
Real…not real,
a perpetual step away from tangibility:
just reach out…
My dreams appear as lingering smoke from pipedreams
that mix with my hopes in a place outside of myself.
Will my dreams and hopes exist in my absence,
like the comforting aroma of burning leaves in late Fall?
That scent whispers to the part of me that is 15, still,
in a time when hope was my essence,
with a pressure that there must be more,
almost violent in its intensity
in the gut of that fifteen year old girl.
by Deborah LaVeglia
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