She said: You don’t dream about someone
who died you don’t care about.
My daughter called me crying
from her apartment in LA,
sobbing because she dreamed
I had died at 80
that being a possibility,
but I feel quite healthy
and don’t see that bucket
swinging before me yet.
She said we laughed a lot.
We went to Dairy Queen
where I ordered a hamburger
but, walking down a hill,
I dropped it and it rolled
until we were rolling
on the ground with laughter.
Her brothers wouldn’t
talk about it in the dream.
That made her mad
and woke her up.
So she called me
and was laugh/sobbing
to hear my voice
and see my reassuring smile.
Glad I was alive.
So was I.
Glad to have this much love
as we were actually
talking on that other side
and I jabbered a lot,
which made it seem more real
because I do spout off
and that made me feel good
about this love from both sides.
Originally published in Rhodora Magazine