Spring Garage Dreams
by Amanda Evans
I like poems that open up like garage doors,
Bob Dylan said to me once in a dream.
I imagine he meant the old fashioned kind
that smell like rotting wood with chips of flaking paint,
like an old barn with a dirt floor.
Once we caught up to him after a show
in the wet brick streets of Wichita, Kansas
and someone had the audacity to ask him
for his Mom's chocolate chip cookie recipe.
Nestle-Toll House, he said.
Oh love, come look out the screen door with me.
For the masters are standing in the street of my dream
looking like ducks nesting in our yard,
for it is across the pond and seems a safe distance from the floods
that will soon be upon us in this season of threatening spring.
The daffodils are blooming! The daffodils are blooming!
It is too late to turn back now.