Stare

In the late 19th century, the Symbolist poets began a movement against naturalism and realism in writing. The Symbolists preferred the power of imagination, dreams, visions, and the like. I’ve never subscribed to any school of poetry. As a writer, my interests are too diverse. I like traditional and experimental forms; I’m a fan of free verse and structured poems; poems around ideas or strong feelings both appeal to me. And, while I’m not a symbolist, I’ve written a number of poems that are dreamlike or are based on actual dreams.

Last month I had a particularly vivid and strange dream that I decided to capture in a poem entitled “Stare.” I pretty much present the dream as I remember it with some minor poetic refining. I don’t know what it means or if it means anything. If readers have any ideas, please comment!

This is a stream of consciousness style prose poem, which seemed apropos for a dream. There is also very little punctuation. We don’t think about it, but punctuation gives a sense of measure, predictability, and cadence; the movement of speech is organized by pauses and rests. I found that removing the punctuation heightened the anxiety and lack of control that permeates the poem. “Stare” will be part of my upcoming book, A Song of Glass, which I hope to publish in 2026.

Stare

We were at my dad’s or someone like a dad whom I loved and wouldn’t want to disappoint he had animals of all kinds I know for sure there was a cow and a calf and there might have been a goat chickens a dog and some other things my brother gave his smirky smile and said we should let them all out of their enclosures to roam around the house and yard 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” But they were already out and everywhere anxiety swayed in my chest like a bell in the breeze then shook hard and rang everything zoomed in on the lion bent over a calf on the ground next to the swimming pool the fur around its mouth was stained it kept ripping into the side of the calf and the hole boiled over with hamburger

“But look at the calf….” I pointed
“I know, isn’t it great?”  My brother grinned with half-closed eyes

Blood lay in a patchwork all around the kill ran to the pool and seeded dark clouds in the water I noticed an infant lying alone by the pool wearing nothing but little shorts the lion appeared without walking or maybe the lion never moved and the baby replaced the calf the lion kept shoving it’s nose against the baby’s hip not eating it and there was no blood then the baby’s whole right leg was in the lion’s mouth there was blood on one of the baby’s hips and in amoebic shapes on the ground the baby never cried my mouth gaped and moved but no words came out a voice said the lion wasn’t eating the baby just biting a small green snake in the baby’s shorts and the blood was from the snake but how did I know? I stared I couldn’t take my eyes off the baby what could I do what in God’s name could I do in this world but stare and wake up shaking?