Bunk Bed Dreams

By Gabriella Calabia

Thoughts, consciousness, and imagination. A poem.

The memory of my birth
town is twisted with cobblestone roads,

alpine cows descending the hills
of my mind. It’s so golden and bright

when the moments swaddled beneath
the grassy valleys connect for an instant

and I am reminded of my flesh,
my heart, my lake-drenched clothes.

Under the late sun, my parents
share a cremeschnitte

licking custard off their fingers.
A thousand thousand-year old flags

unfurl in my imagination,
and the song of a yodeler

drifts on the breeze. In the apple orchard,
Mama holds my sister. I sink

my teeth into the pink fruit
and sunlight, taste the sounds of joy,

the sweetness of these days
forever. My brother’s laugh 

rushes through a field of Christmas Rose
as he treks up the mountain

to touch the moon 
next to the wolves that swallow stones.

How wonderful it is to dream.
To dream. To dream of home.

Process

This poem is an exploration of beginnings, and the act of composing was an apt introspection into my own journey as a poet too. Form and function act in harmony throughout the stanzas to conjure the dreamy state of childhood memories, hopes, and most importantly: dreams. Colors are tasted, the moonlight is grasped, and an ethereal serenity enwraps the speaker. I’ve learned that poetry is quite possibly one of the truest representations of emotion—so long as the poet is willing to wander into her imagination.