We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. "Dream" mate, a giddy sound, not strong
Like "rent", "feeding a wife", "satisfying a man".
But could a dream sent up through onion fumes
Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday's garbage ripening in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms,
Even if we were willing to let it in,
Had time to warm it, keep it very clean,
Anticipate a message, let it begin?
We wonder. But not well! not for a minute!
Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now,
We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it.
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Comments1WOW, THIS GWENDOLYN BROOKS POEM REALLY MADE ME THINK. THE CONCEPT OF DREAMS STRUGGLING AGAINST EVERYDAY LIFE TASKS IS SO REAL AND RELATABLE. DOES ANYONE ELSE FEEL LIKE THIS? ALSO, IM A BIT CONFUSED ABOUT “NUMBER FIVE”, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? SOMETHING ABOUT THIS POEM JUST REALLY HITS HOME FOR ME, MUST BE THE WAY BROOKS USES LANGUAGE. REALLY MAKES YOU THINK ABOUT YOUR OWN DREAMS AND LIFE, DOESN’T IT?