Such Stuff as Dreams are Made Of

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 28, 2018

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Submitted: September 28, 2018

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The devil is in the details, they say, but aren’t
we also in them? Your middle name
is Donald – after a grandfather
you hardly knew. You scatter details and I snatch
at them with greedy hands – a jar of clay of a man,
your grandfather, retrieving drowned golf balls
and selling them back to the pro shop, and later
wrapping hands around a steaming cup of coffee.

You adopt an alias at Starbucks, put on an English
accent, tie your backstory to New Brunswick – a string
to lead you home. You have a One Direction
mixtape, the songs listed in alphabetical
order. You open a book and show me a monkey
sitting in front of a typewriter, hands – paws? – hovering
above the letters. Set the timer, set the timer, set the
timer. To be or not to be, in fair Verona we lay
our scene, the course of true love never did
run smooth, we are such stuff as dreams
are made of.
I say impossible. You say
improbable. I haven’t seen you in almost two
years, haven’t thought about you
in months – eight, to be exact. Winter has thawed,
and this weekend I went to Chapters
with someone else.

But in winter, in Oxford, in a two-story, street corner book shop,
I saw the Politics section, then the Philosophy
section, and thought of you. Did you love
him?
a friend asked me then, and I hesitated –
a desert of a mouth. Impossible. Improbable. Such stuff
as dreams are made of. Wake up.


© Copyright 2018 Carly Ververs. All rights reserved.

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