Dreaming My Way Home

by Joan Leotta

Yesterday, as I drove home,

a dove-shaped white cloud

rolled down the sky ahead of me.

I’d endured a throbbing head

and roiled stomach all that

day so, taking the dove as

a sign of better things to come,

I began to breathe deeply and relax.

Afraid the day’s troubles

might provoke a nightmare

I concentrated on the white

dove cloud, trusting it to fly

me softly through the night.

Before long I was deep

asleep and in that state

I was back on the road

but this time I

Leapt out of my car,

into the sky,

onto the back of the dove

who carried me high, higher

at an uncomfortable speed,

until, just in front of

the safety of my home,

a cloud as dark as my

blackest childhood colorings

blocked my door.

When I looked down,

my dove had become

a fearsome crow, carrying me

into that dark cloud,

as it suddenly glittered

with lightning bolts.

As bird and I entered

that dark space, I awoke,

wet with sweat, tingling

with fear, glad to have

learned so cheaply that

dove’s white and winged,

self may hide another

way and that clouds

are not for us to ride,

even in dreams.

Joan Leotta plays with words on page and stage. She performs tales of food, family, strong women. Internationally published as an essayist, poet, short story writer, and novelist, she’s a multiple Pushcart nominee, Best of the Net, and 2022 runner-up in Robert Frost Competition.  Her new chapbook is Feathers on Stone, 

https://mainstreetragbookstore.com/product/feathers-on-stone-joan-leotta/