I AM SWIFT PURPOSE
As I drag my baggage along the familiar lane
that leads towards childhood, I sense the beginnings
of a lucid dream: by thought alone,
I can magnetise my cases so that they adhere to each other
very well. I can attach wheels.
It is years since I visited Leighton and Gladys.
They dwell among the clapboard gables
of a hillside estate. On arrival at their home,
I immediately start the unloading, the discarding.
I borrow a waste bin for the smaller items:
the unwieldy ones tumble around it.
The more keenly I focus on symmetry,
the more fretful I become.
I cannot stay here long: it is too enclosed,
too cluttered with Gladys’s hairgrips and Leighton’s
railway magazines. I walk into the centre of the village
and announce to passers by that not only is this
a dream – but also that they are variations on the dreamer.
For a while, I act the magician, proving my status
by manoeuvring a left finger through my right hand.
“Look! No blood!” I fail to restrain myself.
“See how I levitate!” I rise as far as the rooftops.
“You can do it too,” I persist.
There is little response, so I look towards the ironmonger’s
and summon a saucepan lid:
stainless steel comes flying into my cupped hope.
I will it to return to its matching pan – till it does.
Fastened at the base of my throat, there is an amethyst brooch
with scalloped edges. More than one person
attempts to remove it: Felix is the last:
he taps on my shoulder before he unclasps it.
I am swift purpose: I glide through the closed doors
of an undertaker’s parlour. On its woollen floor
there are twin purple toys: mindful of my brooch,
I lay it to rest between them.
It occurs to me that my role as entertainer is over:
dreams are for self-healing as well as performance.
I can still levitate.
Needing untainted air, I quieten the past
and move westwards. What I require
is nothing less than the sea.
Freed from possession, I learn about patience
as range after range of hills
are unveiled before me.
I keep following the sun – trusting it
to show me the coast.
Copyright © JENNY JOHNSON
First published in Orbis