The Journal of Dreams 03/12/2010

I thought about my mom today, maybe I had a dream about her…I don’t know.  Some weird things have happened to me in my lifetime, like knowing things before or when they happen.  I remember when I was just a girl, my father had come home with a box in the back of his truck.  As soon as I saw the box I said:  “Do you have a dog in that box?”  Sure enough he did!

And once I had gotten a Mr. Potato Head free for chewing a LOT of bubble gum.  Of course it took so long I’d forgotten about it and one day, out of the blue I said: “I wonder if my Mr. Potato Head will be here today and I looked down the street.  The mailman turned the corner in that moment, it was shocking.  I watched him stop at every house until he got to mine.  He got out of the truck and walked into the driveway and handed me a box…it was Mr. Potato Head!

There have been other things I prefer not to talk about but this poem is one I wrote shortly before my mother became ill.  Often times I wonder if my writing it and putting it on paper could have somehow caused her illness.  I know it sounds far-fetched but so does a lot of other things that have happened to me.  This poem stemmed from nights we stared at the stars together laying on the picnic table.


(In loving memory of Mary Ann 1938-2006)

She was as thin as the twigs we walked upon and amongst…camouflaged
I didn’t know what to say…silent
What can be said to fresh death?

I wished to protect her, but I knew I could not…her flame was flickering
Perhaps if we hid under the cold, dry leaves, death would pass her by…camouflaged
Yet somehow I knew that it would not

I told her I loved her and held her tight in my arms
Believing in my strength to blanket her…protect her
Her skin cold now, the kind of cold that comes with death
And in that moment, a weak smile…she was gone

A little vibrant light in my hand, my mind; warmth
Floated gently toward the heavens; the stars
Until it was camouflaged among the many others

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