I remember striving to reach my aunt’s house,

Because she needed help.

I reached the road where she lived,

Walking up the hill toward the house.

 

There was a field filled with deer.

I wondered why there were so many,

And how had they escaped from the

Fenced area where they belonged.

 

The deer became people milling

Silently around in the road.

I looked into their familiar faces, one by one,

Recognizing them as cousins, and other relatives.

 

They were dressed in clean and crisp shirts and slacks.

Their clothing looked newly laundered.

They looked over the distance down the hill

Toward the mountains and over the railroad tracks,

 

They kept looking without speaking

Looking as if expecting something

Or someone to come into view,

Looking hopefully, waiting.

 

It wasn’t until I woke up

That I realized that the people in the crowd

Had already died, and I was

Wearing a clean crisp shirt and slacks.

 

 

 

©Diane E. Dockum, April 26, 2014