What is the answer?

. . . What is the question?

Gertrude Stein

by Tracy Meleca

When I fell asleep in the field of poppies,

I wasn't looking for God

I was tripping over red shoes I stole

from a dead witch

I landed among these flowers,

that nebulous dream bleeding all over me

I hadn't yet seen the horse,

tasted of its colors;

because there's no place like . . .

I struggled for courage, heart, mind

Those things lost before I came

When I fell asleep in the field of poppies,

I wasn't thinking of Em or Oz or the drugs

keeping me earthbound, spellbound,

one dream from hell

When I traveled over, I could only think of

the flying house, the witch on her broom,

her voice high pitched, her words:

I'll get you my pretty one

Why did it mean something then?

When that spell wound down, I was on my own,

clicking my heels on those golden bricks,

my shoes wielding the colors blood and silver

My journey to be legendary, told in tongues

of children and old women knitting by the window:

Just a little girl then, fighting brash evil

My journey not far from the arcane vortex

I'm not in Kansas--I'm the voyeur

My stolen shoes igniting small sparks

 all over Emerald City

It wasn't all of the dream--I'm the voyeur

I fell asleep in the dream,

tattooed by death and tornadoes,

those horse heads pointing in one direction,

but I couldn't follow

and I was lost

******************

Tracy Meleca has recently obtained her MFA from Long Island University. Her poetry has been featured in Red Jacket, Proteus, and The Texas Poetry Journal.

You can read more of Tracy Meleca's work in the June 2008 Aoife's Kiss, a copy of which you can order by clicking on the cover icon below.