Recurring Lifelong Dream

you're in that dream again.
the tsunami's coming
you're the only one who knows.

or at least a major flood
of historical proportions. you have mere seconds to warn
them, all the shell gatherers;the children in their school

clothes
you go down on the beach or downtown

to the glass buildings
to tell them all. that there's a squall

and all the bridges will wash out this time.
but just like in the sundial day
no one registers what you say

or pays you any mind
because you're not a major player
in anyone's flow chart,

come what may.
still you persist in a dreamlike way
it will be like this, you say:

laying the blueprint out in full detail.
but they are intractable
and doze deep in their own waves

and brush you away not even like a fly
certainly not like one of the emerald ones
or the blue bottles of etymological fame.

there you are. a ghost not a meteor

lighting up no sky.
swinging a lantern, bye and bye

by the grey and ominous coasts
while the wind gathers speed and the Holy Ghost
or on the pavements and trying not to bleed
when you've done all you can to plead;

is there another way to phrase it?.
so they will understand. you beat your head

against the stone of words all in a tone deaf land

and know you're not even barely heard

against the gusts and all the protocols and the musts.

it's happening again.

you can see the tip of the wave descend
and inevitability
is written in streaked sorrow across the clouds

and the lemon lighted window panes.

the doors flapping open...

you scramble to safety up the dunes
and wake up in your room a small Noah after the rainbows.
a wilted Cassandra bloom

and burst into tears that no one listened again
even when their lives hinged on it.

mary angela douglas 30 may 2020