‘The Nap’ and other poems
By: Erik Priedkalns
I woke up from a dreamy nap.
Not beautiful dreamy,
but a slashing scene with
shortness of breath, sweat drenched face,
heart scooping sadness.
I saw the boys when they were young,
heard their blind faith chatter,
relived the time before the bomb.
Smoky edged scenes smoked my mind;
Laughing, clapping, shouting.
Early morning milk.
Footie pajamas rolling on the floor just before dawn.
Rolling, crawling, diapers crunching.
They were both so young.
Right before the sadness came,
when I summoned up the terrible time.
After the dreams I wake with a start,
breathless from the living visions
that taunt and stand a moment’s step
in a discarded place
When you’ve left it all behind,
sometimes you want to turn around,
or just go forward till you’ve been rubbed away.
As soon as the sun was punched out of sight,
bleeding across Horizon’s Sunday line,
Loneliness hit me like a mourner’s prayer.
That place was the place of God’s last call.
That place was a gift and
I was there.
That place was God calling,
That place was God calling.
At least the guy who’s on death row
has the peace of knowing