Poetry of Issue #7        Page 20

In Dreams
A candy-colored clown they call the sandman - Tiptoes to my room every night - Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper -
“Go to sleep. Everything is all right.”—Roy Orbison

When I was a teen,
no candy-colored clown paid me a visit,
nor did everything turn out all right.
When the lights went out,
the sandman came,
not once,
but several occasions—
gave me my first lessons
in fear and distrust.
Silent screams gasped for air,
penetrating
a blue-gray nightmare.

After a year’s absence,
the sandman returned,
held up my painting—
leafless tempera trees burned
against an orange and red sky.
He praised it,
while destroying it.
Scraps of orange, red, and ash paper
fell like stardust.

Years later,
he came by for the last time,
dressed in a dull baggy suit—
a beggar asking for forgiveness.
Before disappearing
into the blue-gray mist,
he tapped my shoulder,
whispered,
Everything will be all right.

  Patricia Carragon