The Dreamer – A Raisin in the Sun Creative Response
By Mini Racker
Desire, such a feathery angel,
deserts the sarcophagus of my body.
I believed in the thing that no one sees.
One of water and writhing, I had waited.
One of lace and fire, I withdrew.
The creek tempted me that dwindling summer night,
that last August, when the leaves sung almost inaudibly,
turning the seasons,
and nor’easters dampened the earth
and the lapping of the water tampering with my heartbeat
like moss does with elm roots,
irrevocably, at its own pace.
My legs overhanging the bank, I weep
for the soft plop of the rain on the mud, pearls bursting
with what dignity.
Drops shimmering through the air, I’m
simmering here, simmering like something that never was, that
never will be—What if
I disappeared like the fishes,
burrowing their lips into the riverbed?
Without reverie, there is nothing but the brook and the rocks
And the blurred keening stars.
And some lost dream like time joint back on itself.
And a dim infinity of days ahead, billowing.