Saturday, April 11, 2009

DUSKEN DREAM "Just Visiting"

I stand at the hummingbird window
thinking of her.

I turn and there she is,
sitting in the white plastic lawn chair,
next to the couch where she
took her last sleep.

A rush of sweet shock holds me still.
A rush of deep love moves me to her.
Hugging, patting, kissing her cheek.
She looks so fresh. Alive. Ageless.
I can't stop touching her.

The question I want to ask
I don't.
The only words I have are,
"I love you Mom!"
Feeling utter joy to see her again.

A young man stands by the door.
He beckons me.
I worry he may blurt out the question I held back.
What if she doesn't realize?
Would it shock her?
Would I lose this precious moment?
Would she vanish away?

I go to him.
He pulls me outside.
"What's she doing here?"
he says,
"She's dead!"

"I know that!"
I say,
"But she might not."

Suddenly the racket of a well pump
goes off beneath out feet.
The porch where she sat
a thousand times to watch the day do by,

"I didn't know there was a well here."

The young man, in agitation, kicks it...
beats it.
It won't turn off.

"I don't think that's going to work."
I tell him.
The door opens,
Mom jumps lightly to the ground.
"This requires finesse."
She says, tapping it gently,
turning a small screw slightly.
"It's a matter of controlling the flow."
It shuts off.

I ponder this a moment, knowing there is a message...
A meaning.
I smile, no time now to think on it...
MOM is here!
The world is rain washed.
Wet grass jewel green.
Sky a dusken blue.
The sun fading.
I link arms with Mom
feeling incredibly tender,
We begin to walk.
The driveway is muddy.
She slips,
I catch her,
lift her to safety on the wet grass.

She is perturbed with me,
for not being open with her.
Then it dawns on me,
it's not she who needs protecting.
She is Home.
We talk.
She has never liked
being protected if it means
holding things back from her.
But I just can't say it.

"I know I'm dead."
she says,
"That doesn't mean I can't visit
now and then,
when I want to,
when you need me."
Then she smiles
and touches my face.

I wake up.
Amazement. Joy. Peace.
They stay with me.

I am ready for her next visit.

(c) 5.20.01
(This was from a dream a few weeks after Mom died)

1 comment:

  1. must have been very close to your mom. These are beautiful poems.