Laura Iodice
Ode to a Dream Defiled
I’m all for Jay Gatsby, that delusional dreamer who cherished gold
While praying for white.
I’m for his lyrical laugh, his pastel-laden laundry,
His defiant optimism,
His guilt-free guile.
I’m not much for his choice of friends, though.
That ever-pretentious Nick, feigning tolerance
Yet judging all the while
As he measures Gatsby’s glitter
Against Tom and Daisy’s pedigreed smiles.
Not much for white wedding motifs on mile-high ceilings,
Nor master horsemen who flaunt their bruising whips,
Nor green lights that can’t be reached. Such liars, those lights.
“Go, Go, Go,” they whisper from across the wide bay,
Knowing all the while that swimming is an exclusive sport.
And so Jay sinks, as does the Dream.
And Spring yields to Winter all too soon;
And all that’s left is an empty pool, its concrete bottom,
Once watery womb, now tomb,
An unremarkable resting place.
And the roaring times too, are gone.
Returned to the Egg that spawned them.
Not dead, but dormant, prepared to hatch
When time permits and memories lapse
And empty promises erase the past.
Then the clock slips from the mantel’s ledge
And tilts its hands toward the beckoning bay where
Boats await their passengers to rock against the tides
And reach once more for that green breast
Long gone.
Poetry by Laura Iodice has appeared in Social Justice Poetry. Her creative non-fiction has appeared in High Shelf Press, Conclave Magazine, The Write Launch, Litro, Metafore Magazine, Crack the Spine and Vending Machine Press. She is a veteran secondary and post-secondary educator and scholarly writer. A Bronx native, she lives with her husband in Syracuse, NY.
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