Dreams #2

All I can remember now is that last night I saw Bindhi and their hair was all black

longer even, like mine 

"you look so much like your mom now" 

and they said 

"I think I look more like you now" 

I waited too long and wrote about the 1st dream this morning, 

in the morning cold

in the light of waking morning like walking through it again 

but last night's dream has only left a ghostly vapor in its wake and I can't recall any more than Bindhi's sweet face 

and a look I can trace down the line of our shared ancestry

Dreams #1

2 nights ago

in a reversal of nightly events brought on by 

the chill in the air that crept through the window 

up the foot of my bed and breathed heavily on my face and neck

I dreamt so clearly

Not something I have had the pleasure of in so long

Walking into a narrow dim hallway, a disaster of 

shoes out of cubbies and stuffies 

on the path forward 

there were little altars on the wall

missing their icons 

the kids, my sister's younger then 

handing me their precious gods without order 

disagreement where that huge worn teddy should bear 

witness to the comings and goings of occasional visitors 

The house was huge, unlike where my sister has ever lived 

So spacious, that I had to walk to the 3rd floor to find her sitting with Bindhi watching tv 

Bindhi was thinner, and more feminine than I have seen them in years 

glowing skin shiny and hair white 

shoulder length (they do not have hair now due to chemo) 

I went to hug them and they let me, even 

sinking into my embrace with ease 

not something that is easy or familiar  

I giggled and ran my hands through their hair....

ooooohhhhhing and ahhhhhing 

at the color

I cried to see them and hold them, not 

having held them for ages 

not like this 

They coyly turned towards us: "I wonder how good it would look purple?" 

with a wink and a twinkle 

After 

I was on the grass in the backyard watching the kids

as a pack carry my daughter in arms 

down the spiral steel fire escape 

lifeless and heavy 

Me, I was yelling

in my head or out loud? 

"why is her body so hot, her flesh heavy and squishy like there were no bones inside her 

and where is her breath????"

I woke in a panic 

before 

I could remember how to perform CPR or the necessary measures of saving someone you desperately love with all your heart

Book Review

Ten short pages from the end of the story 

Luz and David are discovered in the utility closet, 

predictably, her fiance, Avel, kicks down the door of impropriety 

a scene that ends with the same delivery of brokenhearted goodbye

as was delivered in the daily practice of love, 

Avel leaves forever.

I wondered about the placement there, 

of this ending before the ending, 

too quick and undeveloped

irritating, incomplete, injurious

not the betrayal, for isn't that just life? 

But, this sloppy rushing into what the reader knows is coming to an end, anyway!  

I put the book down right then

caught in that moment of love's betrayal 

it was too hard to continue to look at, intense, charged with electric energy 

in hindsight, probably because I, too, have stood at that liminal moment

a portal in time, forced open by the convergence of choices and fate 

Eventually, picking up to finish, 

I felt let down by the writer, 

having held her hand tightly all the way until then

It's not that her decision was unsavory or hard 

it's because of what always happens to me

I hold tight and with abandon to the hopeful, 

the possible potentiality, the wish of what there might be yet

It's me who I'm disappointed with

for we rarely fulfill what we are destined for,

until we are ready 

we won't do it for anyone

until we do it for ourselves

Time

The view from this porch hasn't changed that much in 20 years early summer mornings, the crickets still sing their melody, the dew drops still plops with heavy longing, the bird feeders have grown in number and avian visitors, absent this morning are usually performing center stage for what seems our singular pleasure maybe, the feed is soggy and wet or I've overslept past the debut and they are now on break having retreated, knowing the main act will be ever more magical for the wait Over the years, audience has changed slightly, the matriach having departed in the chill of springtime leaving a deep well of sadness in usually brighter eyes We move on, don't we? After someone we love passes at least, do our best to live our full lives their memories, like of all loss, become the coverings we wrap ourselves in night after night holding us in embrace