Laura Castro is a writer and teacher in New York City. This poem was read at the Italian American Writers Association evening at Cornelia Street Café on December 11.

Dream, Leaning on its Elbow

What thoughts are these?
Haven't I been here before?
How can this be that I'm
reborn and reborn and reborn?

What, now a daffodil? And next
A bird? A small bright stone?
And all this in one lifetime?
I was a blade of grass once.

No, I have not seen this room before-
It's different; though I recognize the song.
How many rooms have I inhabited,
fresh painted in the colors of the dream?

I walked in the stillness of the desert,
no birds, no blades of grass,
and came to be content-had
quite forgotten what might come to pass.

Then out of stillness, the dream,
leaning on its elbow,
contemplating the leap into-
What? I only start to know!

Dare I jump feet first as if brand new
-Will I ever be the same?-
Into those spaces between the notes
On a scale I never heard, yet know like my own name?