"Untitled" - Lisa Mende




"Untitled" - Lisa Mende


I dreamed of painted dogs in Beechwood canyon
and God’s voice saying you may live in a land of no regrets and you will never grow old but first you must solve the riddle of the Sphinx the answers have been changed    
I will make you invisible with the past at your fingertips and a language all your own.
I will pin your secret name to a single tear and turn your legs to a mermaid’s tail.
You will be the beauty in a beholders eye but your mirror will be empty
I dreamed I swam through submerged cities and drowned carnivals
And God’s voice saying you may live in a land of heros but the battle will never begin
I will give you dreamless nights and perfect days but the sun will be blinding
All the maps will be washed clean and the sidewalks will be quicksand  Nazis will march through your mouth
I will give your own anthem with all the words in the world    
I will attach string to your arms and teach you how  to weave
All the threads will be white and the pattern will tell your life’s story
I dreamed I was held captive outside the door to my house
And God’s voice saying you may lose all of your fear and monsters will drink from your hands but you will always have thirst
I will sew you a suit of sand and you will be the hourglass
Your days will be ram’s horns and you will kiss the lips of your ancestors 
Your wedding bouquet will bloom again.
I dreamed of funerals in theaters and God’s voice saying
You will dance away your shoes and find lost treasure but you will live in poverty 
I will make your skin ice and give you a tower but your body will be numb
Your name will be inscribed in the book of perfection but water will blur the words you will stand on tiptoe next to walls and be fearless children will spring from your fingertips
I dreamed of steps covered in sand and God’s voice saying I will give you the language of animals and the eyes of an owl the universe will sing in numbers and you will bathe in rivers of salt     
candles will grow from the sand your breath will be music but you will have no voice 
your mornings will turn to glass your lovers will turn to drums your eyes will turn to paper you will kiss your enemy’s mouth

[Photo of Lisa Mende, August 2014, by Michelle Castleberry]

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