A Dream and A Memory

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A Dream And A Memory

 

I dreamed I was

In an old stone building,

It turned out to be a hospital

I saw Grandma in her bed,

 

All dressed and looking bright as a penny

Her hair styled with curls

My aunt was there knitting at the foot of her bed

Making her something to wear.

 

She was very busy

Only looked up shortly

To acknowledge my presence

The yarn was bright pink

 

Hot pink

The stitches were large

Moving fast

Across the needles

 

Knit one pearl two

Slipping on to the next needle

Grandma smiled and laughed

Reaching out for my hand

 

I remembered the last time I saw her

I was saying goodbye

My words were hard to surface

Through the thick ache of knowing

 

Her tomorrow would never come

She reached out her hand

Trying to breathe

Dying of lung cancer

 

Pale, but our eyes connected

Hers blue and wide

Each of us sending

Our farewells

 

 

 

©Diane E. Dockum, 2015

April 13, 2015

Sunday Afternoon

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The day is mild

A slight breeze brings

Freshness

Through open windows

Wind chimes gently grace

The movement of the air

That carries a

Chickadee’s love song

High, low, high low

It makes a peaceful

Sunday afternoon

 

 

 

© Diane E. Dockum, 2015

April 12, 2015

Picking Up Sticks

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Picking Up Sticks

Go and bend
And go and bend and stand
Bend and look
Go and look and bend

And stand and bend and
Stand and look around
Oh no there’s more
There are more fucking sticks

Huff and puff
And go and reach and bend
Walk and pile and look
And go and bend and stand

And rake and clip
Go and bend and stand
And wheeze and cough
And pile near the road

And come back in the house
And grunt and groan
And sit back in the lounge
And open up a book

(Inspired by my husband, Dennis)

©Diane E. Dockum
April 11, 2015

CHANGING LIGHT

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In winter, the sun

Is late to rise

Holding back its warmth

Deceiving in its brightness

     Its arc across the sky

     Is done without warmth

     Giving light reluctantly

     Taking it back too soon

In spring we lean closer

In the northern half of the planet

And after a while

We feel the heat

     And after a long while

     The lingering days pull us into summer

     Then we become the reluctant ones

     Who won’t let go until the leaves fall

©Diane E. Dockum, 2015

April 9, 2015

Elements

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Gaia

Terra Firma

Spinning, changing, feeding

Our only hope of survival

Earth

 

Airstream

Flowing Power

Pushing, shaping, tearing

Breeze, Gale, hurricane or zephyr

Wind

 

Passion

Fervor, bonfire

Sparking, Heating, Burning

Consumer of all obstacles

Fire

 

Power

Oceans, rivers

Drowning, flowing, crashing

Creator of canyons and falls

Water

 

©Diane E. Dockum, 2015

April 8, 2015

My Father’s Wallet

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There was no money

Left inside,

Taken, I suppose, for purposes

Of need at the time of his passing.

 

The wallet, a tri-fold

Of black leather,

Soft and fragrant,

Still held photos of his grandchildren

 

And his “Order Of Old Bastards”

Membership card, and his

Drivers license, social security

And pistol permits

 

For the .357 Colt revolver

The .22 Ruger, the .22 Smith & Wesson

And his Pinkerton Detective card

From 1962.

 

Like the folded napkin

Of a special guest who has left

The dinner table too soon

On urgent business

 

It remains here in his absence

And I can imagine

His spirit is as near

As the memories he left behind.

 

 

©Diane E. Dockum, April 6, 2015

 

 

 

 

BRAINSTORM IN A CHINESE RESTAURANT

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Flashes of coherent thought

War against doubts and fears

Synapses flash

Breathing races

Heart pounds to feed the cells

Juices flow

Decisions hit the walls

Like splattered paint

And run down into pools

Along the mop boards

The smell of roses and burnt toast collide

I have run out of paper

And my ink has dried on the line

I can’t think of any words that would

Make sense

I am full of broccoli and chicken

The Oolong tea was dark and buckets of water

Sat unattended as the melting snow from the roof

Burbled through clear plastic tubes

Like sap into the red plastic pails

And a brain damaged man

Made guttural noises in the other room

But the waitress was sweet and attentive

It was good not to have to make supper

And drink egg drop soup from a

Thick white bowl

Still I am hunting for a poem

To post on my blog before midnight

My Easter vigil has begun

Now 40 minutes have passed and still nothing

I want to write about death and life

Because of Easter but the words smack of hokum.

Where did that go?

Where is that part of me who heard the angels sing

And felt the still small voice of God?

©Diane E. Dockum, 2015