The Colour of Dreams in Cryonic Sleep – A Poem by Roger Hare

The Colour of Dreams in Cryonic Sleep

I stand on the gantry, shake
each astronaut by the hand,
they tell me it’ll be fine.
I’m still there as the rocket launches,
but its flames don’t melt me.

I find I’m the one in space,
floating this way and that,
and stars are sweets; I pick
and eat – sharp, minty, fizzing
on my tongue.

Things get complicated,
my way obscured, impeded by
polystyrene blocks expanding,
until a trapdoor takes me to
a waiting-room of sorts.

Chairs around its edge are occupied
by people losing face. Behind a desk,
a receptionist consults her clipboard,
calls my name, points through
a window I hadn’t seen –

my body is suspended there,
as big as an ocean liner, covered
in workmen and cranes – I turn
to ask what’s happening:
she transforms before my eyes
into several forms from
early-eukaryote phylogeny
before slipping beneath the door.

A mist creeps from the floor,
green and tasting creamy, until
I am the mist. At my touch
all surfaces become plates of ice
that collide and separate –
the spaces in-between, full
of voices shouting,
come on in, the water’s lovely.

My final thought; remember
all the crockery and cutlery you
laid, at table, but never used.

Roger Hare is a UK poet based in Herefordshire, delights in taking inspiration from things overheard, seen or researched, and is particularly stirred by works of art and the processes of other creatives. He’s grateful to have found his poems appearing in several online/in-print journals and to have been a prizewinner in a few competitions, most recently the Kent & Sussex Poetry Competition. He can be found on Twitter @RogerHare6

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