There’s a certain

vision of the American

dream. Tell me if it looks familiar:

a man and woman meet after the Revolution.

The man works hard for a golden ticket to Anywhere, America /

works hard in grad school / works hard to keep quiet / keep to

himself / works hard to pass muster / let pass indignities / pass        

off as a man born with gold in his step / pass on someday /                    

pass down something / pass by ghosts of his old life / old home

turned unfamiliar. If he succeeds someday he will be a man              

who grants passage to younger men luckier than him. All the while

the woman works hard to support his dream / now their dream /

accepts his ambitions are more reachable than hers. In her old life

she was a teacher doctor daughter / adopted her father’s

ambitions mother’s laments / dreamed she might be a writer

singer dancer / see a world she could not imagine / its vastness. In

their                         new life she is a wife waitress cleaner mother

settler / kicks her                                      old wants aside to play

sidekick to the main character / the man.            If he succeeds /

they succeed. If hisses and rattles like a                  snake. Inside a

baby kicks and wakes her from a dream.                                          A

dream is a kind of vision tunneling toward the future / a kind        

of blindness. Envision: headlights barreling through

a pitch-black tunnel. The place they come from

fades into pins of light. The place they go to

expands into light / so much light / all

light and nothing else. At the end

of the tunnel is a final stage.

When the curtains close

the shadows keep

dancing.

‍