“Swathed” by Karen George

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So many dreams of loss
recurred after you died:
losing tooth after tooth,
losing my purse,
losing control of my car
speeding backwards,
losing a cashmere coat
with leopard collar and cuffs,
one I never owned.

Then I dreamt a shade of color
I’ve never seen before or since —
a blend of indigo, violet, fuchsia.

I checked what tone of sky streamed
so intense through the glass pane,
but found only gray.
Appraised ceiling, wall, floor, quilt.
None could concoct
the hue enfolding me
stream after stream
radiance and cadence
humming
until I grasped
as I woke—
the tint teemed from me.

-Karen George

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