has a new look

Go to the new

Poetry by Tracy Franklin 



© 2007 Tracy Franklin








I had a dream about Charlie a few nights ago,

Charlie of the turn-it-around-'til-I-apologize-for-the-accusation denials,

Charlie of the scare-the-wits-out-of-my-son screaming,

Charlie of the squeeze-my-windpipe-shut crook of his elbow.


Charlie that I loved more than reason or pride and God help me what if---I can't even think it.


I had a dream about him, and in this dream, he was whoring around.

That's not so far out there,

but my reaction to his whoring surprised me a bit.


There was only a bit of shouting on my end, no tears, and I turned to his father

(yeah, his father popped up, handy how these things happen in dreams),

I turned to his father and said,

"Make sure he's gone when I come back."


His father is a good man,

the kind of good man who puts what's right ahead of even family loyalty,

and he just nodded with understanding as

I turned back to the door.

"You brought this on yourself, you know," I heard him say to his son,

who was by this time throwing an old tantrum around.


I only noticed the fit peripherally, because now

I was wearing flip-flops and had a beach towel thrown over my shoulder,

and evidently the stairs outside my apartment door

led directly to the beach.


I stepped out onto the sand;

you've probably caught on by now that the sun was brilliant and

the sky was bright blue and had fluffy white clouds

and the water was sparkling.


I spread my towel beside and not apart from

a whole big group of people,

and I wasn't afraid to talk to them, but

I didn't need to talk to them;

it was okay just to lie there on the sand

in my red one-piece and be normal.


It was nice to be normal and be

a Baywatch babe, too, and

it was good to lie there and not be afraid of the world,

wonderful to lie there and know that

nothing that had happened was because I was a bitch,

or wasn't pretty enough,

or wasn't a good enough fuck.


I don't really think that that beach

is on my itinerary anytime soon,


but still, I liked the dream.

After all, if you look at the brochures long enough,

you find a way to travel.







All work is property of Tracy Franklin.




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