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Foreign I'm maggie smith and this is the slow down. One of the first questions I ask my kids when I see them in the morning, usually while I'm making my coffee, is did you have any dreams? Sometimes the answer is no, or I think so, but I don't remember them. But sometimes I get to hear all about the strange adventures they had while they slept. Funny how those adventures seem epic. They seem to last all night long, but really they're probably only a few minutes long. Dreams have their own sense of time and their own logic. Sometimes people who are long dead show up alive and well. Sometimes you're a child again. When my children tell me about their dreams, it's not uncommon for them to say we were at home, but it wasn't our house, or I was with my friends, but they weren't my real life friends. Sometimes I play a cameo role as myself, but sometimes the role of their mother is played by someone else. Dreams are strange like that. Our sleeping brains sometimes offer us alternate versions of familiar people and places. When I was my son's age, I had a dream dictionary. I would wake up in the morning and look up the symbols and events. I remembered being unable to run, or losing my teeth, or trying to hide someplace that was too small for me. I knew even back then that there was no definitive answer, no clear interpretation, but it was fun to seek answers. These days I don't remember my dreams very often, but when I do, they're like surrealist films. I don't look up the meaning of the images, but sometimes I do end up using the images in poems. The unconscious mind can make some startling metaphors, so I wish I remembered more of them. Today's poem is surreal and unnerving. When I finish reading it, I have that feeling of having woken up from a strange dream, suspecting it has something to tell me. Going Home by Joan Kwan Glass in the kitchen, my father slices a tomato. He sees me and smiles. I pull up a chair next to him. At age 6, there is only one narrative. I've been gone so long. My father tells me to chop the broccoli, but there is no broccoli. Instead of a knife, he hands me a ring of keys. None of the keys unlock the front door, but I keep turning the knob. I try until I forget which side of the door I'm on. In the backyard, my mother sits on a beach towel, grinning strangely and eating pages from her Bible. She accuses me of eating the broccoli. I shake my keys at her. My baby sister is three. She makes wings out of paper bags and perches on the kitchen counter. She stays like that, forever, alive. Someone is wailing nearby. At first I think it's coming from the neighbor's house, but then I realize my mouth is open and it's my voice. Can anyone hear me? I've been gone so long. Inside the house, wallpaper roses drop their petals like silent, pretty bombs. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. Find us on Instagram, lodownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org the slowdown is written by me, Maggie Smith. Our lead producer is Micah Kielbon, and our associate producer is Maria Wurtel. Our music is composed by Kyle Andrews, engineering by Derek Ramirez. Our editor and digital producer is Jordan Turgeon. Additional production help by Susanna Sharpless, Cece Lucas, Marcel Malachibu, and Lauren Humpert. Our executives in charge are Chandra Kavati and Mark Crowley. Hi, it's Maggie. Thanks for listening to the Slowdown. Whether you press play to find calm or vivid inspiration, we're glad you're here. As a public media podcast, we rely on listener support to share these moments of poetry. Please consider donating today@slowdownshow.org donate.
Episode 1431: Going Home by Joan Kwon Glass
Host: Maggie Smith
Date: January 9, 2026
In this episode, host Maggie Smith invites listeners to contemplate the elusive, surreal nature of dreams — their emotional logic and strange coherence — through the lens of Joan Kwon Glass’s evocative poem, “Going Home.” Smith reflects personally on the way dreams remix reality, referencing her own childhood fascination with dream interpretation, before sharing and responding to the poem’s dreamlike imagery. The episode encourages attention, curiosity, and openness to metaphor as tools for living with both hope and wonder.
On the fluid reality of dreams:
On the search for meaning in dreams:
On poetic use of dream imagery:
The poem’s haunting conclusion:
Maggie Smith’s tone is intimate, gently curious, and poetic, matching the subject matter. The episode encourages a sense of wonder, cautious optimism, and the value of reflective observation rooted in daily experience.
Summary Takeaway:
Through personal reflection and the haunting poem by Joan Kwon Glass, this episode of The Slowdown explores the shifting boundaries between home, self, memory, and dream. Listeners are encouraged to notice the surreal logic in everyday life and acknowledge the emotional truths our subconscious presents, whether through dreams or poems.