I have dream after dream
I’m telling people of her death,
as if it is my job to inform
old friends’ and loved ones’
subconsciouses that she
is no longer on this plane.
I’m waiting, in the wakefulness
of my day, for someone
to tell me, lucidly, that it
was a mistake.
That she’s at home
stirring the minestrone soup.
That should be my awakened life:
the scent of celery, onions and tomatoes
should be what I smell
when I awake from my saddened slumber.

01/26/2007

Posted on 01/26/2007
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