Dreamcatcher
written by: Liz Berg
You were in my dreams last night. I saw you as clear as if you were standing here before me now. And I know that is impossible. Last night you leaned forward and whispered something in my ear. I tried so hard to hear your voice, your beautiful voice, I loved like Monet’s lilies love the water. I missed what you said. I am so sorry. I wish you were in my dreams again, to hear you.
How I loved you. My eyes ate you up. My body yearned to touch you once more, my soul stretched as far as it could out into the ether to try to connect, the way we used to. To no avail. I ached in my desperate attempt to reach you. You shimmered and lifted a hand in sad farewell. My eyes filled, and the dream dissolved in streams of salty fluids.
I have been winding the wool and threading the beads, your favourite watery blues and misted greens. I have sourced the feathers and cleaned them carefully. My adept told me what to say this time, this time, whilst I create the way to capture you and bring you out of my dreams into my life. The antithesis of what a dreamcatcher should be. I want, no, need to catch you, to preserve you knotted in the threads, tangled up with beads and feathers.
You left me bereft. You hadn’t aged in my dream. You hadn’t, yet I have. I am not the young flirt of all those decades ago, trying so hard to make you see me, and then when you did, oh, how my heart stuttered in relief.
In the dream, you wore the purplish blue scarf I made for you after visiting Giverny. I haven’t made as good a one as that since.
In the dream, you smiled at me before your eyes turned sad, and you leaned towards me. Those whisperings, if I could pull them from my cochlea, unravel the sounds and knit them back up into distinguishable words, to hear the dread, the terror, even as they pierced me, I would.
Now my fingers twist and knot, the prayer in here, the blessing there, the spell over all. It is ready. I am ready to hear what it was that you struggled so hard to say to me.
I hang the dreamcatcher from the window of my bedroom. Will I catch you?
- Dreamcatcher - March 10, 2026
