The Universe Dreamed I: 28th August 2023
The Universe dreamed I listened to it. It told me a story about its mother who had written a story of her own. She’d sent it to a reputable literary journal. Hoped for publication. Spent what felt like forever waiting for the editor’s decision to come.
To occupy herself in the meantime, she put on a wash. The wash seemed to take what felt like forever to finish.
To occupy herself, she sent her story to another journal. This, she hoped, might bring publication about sooner (now then, unless you have been instructed otherwise, simultaneous submissions are a faux pas).
When it came to drying the clothes, this seemed to take what felt like forever too. The dry spin did come to an end eventually, but by which point her story had been accepted by both editors for both journals.
What I’ve failed to mentioned is that, to occupy herself as the dry spin went on and on she posted her story to social media (now then, unless you have been instructed otherwise, posting a submitted story to social media is a faux pas).
All in all, there would be no publication for the Universe’s mother. The Universe sobbed. 'Not all was lost though,' it said, wiping its eyes. 'Certain that's what brings results, she now sends all of her stories off for publication whilst doing the laundry.'
lint...
a resurfacing idea
in rotation
I Dreamed the Universe: 2nd September 2022
I dreamed the Universe popped up from behind the counter of my corner shop. It helped itself to a bar of chocolate from the counter. A packet of chewing gum too. Then the Universe took a wad of cash from the till and my heart rate doubled. I ran out into the street, found a gang of policemen, explained what the Universe had done. They were sorry to hear about it but had more important matters to attend to. A riot had been scheduled to break out at a local community dance any moment now.
Following the policemen down the steep street, I watched from a sofa as happy galaxies took turns to dance with the Universe. On recollection, this meant that the Universe had no longer been robbing my shop. There’d been no riot either. But that didn’t occur to me at the time.
Across from where I sat, hung on the opposing wall, an oil painting. A small sailing boat depicted on a rough sea of dark blues. The crests of the waves were bone white and I admired the boat's bravery, its doneness with the land. 'Can I go where that boat is going?' I asked the galaxy sitting next to me.
tipping point—
the clifftop’s vertigo
weighs heavily
The Universe Dreamed I: 2nd September 2023
The Universe dreamed I was on my way over. We’d made plans for me to spend the night at its house. However, I didn't arrive until 4.30am. It had been a long drive over as the Universe had given me several jobs to do along the way.
It had rolled its own car over at the side of the road and couldn't get out, so there was that.
A dozen orcs stood huddled together waiting for me to paint them green, so there was that.
I had to leave my car to tackle an obstacle course of houseplants and kept tripping over the aloe vera, so there was that.
And then I had to watch a two-minute YouTube video of galaxies being blown away by gale force winds—some of them around street corners, some of them through windows, and some of them into the sea—so there was that too.
The Universe didn't mind that I was late. In fact, it had used the extra time to prepare me a feast of foods my stomach and bowels couldn't tolerate. Moon rock, stardust, hydrogen jelly, helium cake had been laid out on the dining room table.
doubled over road bumps burning rubber
I Dreamed the Universe: 4th September 2022
I dreamed the Universe challenged me to a game of inside-basketball. Inside-basketball is where the hoop is plastic and attached to a bedroom door. And the basketball is the size of a small grapefruit. My first shot from the middle of the room deflected off the rim. The Universe zipped around. I stood on the same spot and took another shot. A slight increase in the projection, I thought, would give the ball more lift, a heightened arc. The ball, with any luck, I thought, would fall straight down through the hoop. I took my second shot and scored. I shot again and scored again. Over and over, I made the same shot. The Universe looked taken aback, unable to work out that it could win the game, or at least draw, if it mimicked my method.
As the game went on some of my shots dropped cleanly through the hoop. Some of them dashed the rim. And some circled the rim, spiralling, working their way slowly into the centre of a void. I enjoyed these shots most of all as the visual effect was pleasing.
I scored point after point and the Universe tried and tried. But mathematically, scientifically, it was not possible for it to win. If I wasn’t enjoying myself so much, I would have told the Universe this. That way, it could have saved its energy for something else. Instead, I let it go on burning itself out until, finally, the Universe conceded, told me it couldn’t believe its luck.
lucky dip surprise
my hand pulls out
your hand
R. C. Thomas resides in Plymouth, UK. His collection, ‘The Strangest Thankyou’ (2012), and pamphlet, ‘Zygote Poems’ (2015), were published by Cultured Llama under the name Richard Thomas. His collection of haiku, 'Faunistics', was published in January 2024. He edited Symmetry Pebbles, and helped edit Tribe, Thief, and INK (Plymouth University's creative writing journal). His poetry and haiku have been published internationally.
Web: www.rcthomasthings.com
Social: @rcthomasthings
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