Patty Heart Dreams of Persephone on Cadillac Mountain, 3 drafts

Patty Hearst Dreams of Persephone Lost On Cadillac Mountain

There's a highway running through your dream, with Harleys,

Hell's angel Harleys and big semis and a little platoon

of matching yellow cars. You know that deer standing

at the edge of the road is about to die, to be thrown

up over the hood of a red car that will careen into the side

of another and they will roll into the ditch at your feet.

You want to wave your arms and head off the deer, but

your arms are timbers from the mast of a ship

that has grounded on rocks in the fog. You know now

you're dreaming because you wouldn't mix metaphors like that

in your waking life, but you're trapped in the dream anyway,

surrounded by Harleys revving their engines, skulls grinning,

knowing that deer will drown soon, knowing that you will fall

through the green water tangled in the limbs of the drowned

deer forever.

Mary Stebbins, 3-28-06

Patty Hearst Dreams of Persephone Lost On Cadillac Mountain

There's a highway running through your dream, with Harleys,

Hell's angel Harleys, and big semis and a little platoon

of matching yellow cars. A flock of goldfinches, a school

of fish. You know that deer standing at the edge

of the road is about to die, to be thrown

up over the hood of a red car that will careen into the side

of another and they will roll into the ditch at your feet.

You want to wave your arms and head off the deer, but

your arms are timbers from the mast of a ship

that has grounded on rocks in the fog. You know now

you're dreaming because you wouldn't mix metaphors like that

in your waking life, but you're trapped in the dream anyway,

surrounded by Harleys revving their engines, skulls grinning,

knowing that deer will drown soon, knowing that you will fall

through the green water tangled in the limbs of the drowned

deer forever.

Mary Stebbins, 3-28-06 060328b

Patty Hearst Dreams of Persephone Lost On Cadillac Mountain

A highway runs through your dream. Harleys rumble,

Hell's angel Harleys, and big semis. A little platoon

of matching yellow cars flits through the semis, a flock of goldfinches,

a school of fish. You spot a deer standing at the edge

of the road, know it is about to die, to be thrown

up over the hood of a red car that will careen into the side

of an SUV and they will roll into the ditch at your feet.

Crumpled. You want to wave your arms and head off the deer,

but your arms are timbers from the mast of a ship

that has grounded on rocks in the fog. You know now

you're dreaming because you wouldn't mix those metaphors

in your waking life, but you're trapped in the dream anyway,

surrounded by Harleys revving their engines, skulls grinning,

knowing that deer will drown soon, knowing that you will fall

through the green water tangled in the limbs of the drowned

deer forever.

Mary Stebbins, 060329a, 060328b