The other night I dreamed I was a satellite. Almost always, I'm either a passive observer of my dreams, like I'm watching a movie, or if I'm a character, I'm some version of me.
I'm almost sure I've never dreamed that I'm an inanimate object.
Actually, in my dreams, I wasn't inanimate. I was moving far above the earth, and I was sentient. In part of my dream, I realized that there had been some kind of apocalypse, and I was watching a woman in Cincinnati. I was worried about her, because I wasn't seeing any other humans, and I wasn't sure how she would cope.
I wonder if I can transform any of this into a poem.
Perhaps I dreamed this because I've been thinking about technology lately. It only takes one day in the office where the computer isn't working properly, the copy machine is jammed, and I realize that I don't know how to send a fax to make me realize how dependent we've become on the machines. As if I didn't already know.
As I was walking the few city blocks between the parking lot and the building, I realized that I was the only pedestrian not talking into a cell phone. That made me think of the satellites far above us which make it possible for us to talk wirelessly.
I also thought of earlier generations who talked to god on high. Now we talk to satellites. Or do we talk through satellites?
Again, I'll be interested to see the poems that might emerge from this bubbling stew.
Flypaper in The Comstock Review
3 months ago