all the time I thought you said to me in a dream:
the kind splashed with roses on polished cotton
with sweetheart necklines, full skirts
and you showed me the elegant list you had prepared,
a dream list of pink and gold decorations,
the invitations on cream you showed to me
all this was in the land of no emergencies...
and of no setting suns and I was
so happy to see you Grandmother.
that of course, then I woke up.
why do you always come this way in dreams
imparting mind to mind without talking;
(you who spoke so much on every subject
when you were on earth,
to me, almost from birth)
something I don't understand
when I come to; and why does the dream dissolve
before I can stop and ask you things such as:
does dying hurt and do you like
where you're living now?
can tell me?
you used to spoon out advice
for every occasion from such a golden spoon
you seem to be the same as
on your best days here.
and that alone makes me happy.