Poetry

Dream

It’s 3 a.m. and the phone is ringing.
Someone has died, I think to myself
as I turn in my dream.

My head is a bell that won’t stop clanging,
its shape is a dress
of a woman with no face.

There’s a shadow in a vacuum
madly swimming for its life:
“Save me, Save me!”

Its voice becomes a siren
and I jump to my feet.

Breathing in air of a cold dark hallway,
I shiver back to bed.

(First appeared in Muse, 2012)

Jeffrey Zable is a teacher and conga drummer who plays Afro Cuban Folkloric music for dance classes and Rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. Recent writing in Serving House Journal, Unscooped Bagel, Dead King,
Ink In Thirds and Tigershark.

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