This week’s poem comes from the archives. Andrew Mobley’s poem “Dream Half a World Away” was first published in the October 2021 issue.
"Dream Half a World Away"
by Andrew Mobley
I’m afraid of forgetting your face
Your smile so rare
All I have of you is a ghostly cold, spring warm trace
Written on my soul to tear
I’m afraid of the fading of your gentle voice
That once swept over my weary heart like a cool breeze
That in my darkness gave me cause to rejoice
That to my rusted doors were keys
Now we’re gone
Half a world away with only whispers
The wind upon
And the cherry tree withers
Losing its grip on its fruit
Watching as they slip through its gnarled fingers in winter bare
Helplessly falling to the barren root
There is no fruit so sweet that left such a bitter taste
But I see the coming spring
And I know what the waters of Marah bring
Life again, that was and is to come
I’m afraid of myself and my war
With or without your gentle touch
That I once and never felt before
Because now what is my love was once our crutch
The lonesome bitter breeze reminds me
Of the love once forgotten flowing through my ancient veins
Oh that I could have seen, that you could now see
The ills we needlessly bear, our shackles, our chains
We sang each other’s names half a world away
And now alone I want to scream
For God to turn numb night into obliterating day
And restore the gentle, unsullied dream
Andrew Mobley may be living proof that the supposedly mind-broadening effects of travel are ultimately limited. He has lived in China, Indonesia, Taiwan, Laos, and the United States of America. http://advocate.jbu.edu/author/mobleyai/
