I fall asleep,
    and slip down my own private rabbit hole,
past the rainbow rabbit
    with his Mickey pocket watch,
past the blue queen
    with her pursed lips,
the army of worn playing cards
    deadheading the bleached roses of early autumn.

A grinning butterfly offers me
    a questionable gummie,
a giggling waiter apologizes
        for being unable to tip his hat, or two hats, or possibly three.

The table is set,
    but am I the only guest?
Where's Alice? I wonder,
    and the dormouse,
and tea?

I'm now at the kitchen table
    back in the old house on Lafayette Street,
yet I'm grown, not a boy,
    and there are Mom and Dad.
"You are dead," I say.
    "It's nice to see you."

"Nice to see you, too, dear one,
    but we must be going.
We're late. We're late!"
    And I am alone.

A dish of cottage cheese–
    topped with pineapple chunks–
is the only thing on the table.
    I would eat it,
but I have no spoon.

A familiar voice behind me asks,
    "Don't you just love
this twisty side of you?"
    I turn. It's Sophia.
I say, "Wait. What?
    What are you doing here?"

What are you doing here?"
    she counters.

"I am dreaming, but you?"

"I dream with you,
    though I wonder,
is this your dream? Or mine?
    Or ours?"

We're in a rowboat
    without oars.
Something moves us 
    further into the lake.

"I love ambiguity, don't you?"
    she asks.
I think the question is rhetorical,
    so I don't answer.
Actually, I don't know how to answer.
    Is that, in fact, the ambiguity?

"Words mean so many things,"
    I say,
and even those words
    start transforming.
What are words, anyway?
    Or things? Or meaning?

I shake my head to clear it.

"You are safe," she assures me,
    "not matter where or what
or whichever or who-how
    or what's-a-whose-it."

"I don't know what's-a-whose-it.
    I mean, whose-a-what's-it…"

She laughs,
    stand up in the boat,
rocking it.
    "Give me a hug," she says.

"But we will capsize!"

"I know."
    She drags me to my feet,
wraps her arms around me,
    and over we go…

And I am home again,
    in bed,
dawn touching the Eastern sky.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Text and image © 2022 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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