POETRY

Ghosts

The secret life of dreams

My Grandmother, sometime in the 1990’s (photo by author)

Lately I have met my Grandmother a lot in dreams
much younger than she would be now, by decades
spry and sprightly like she used to be
quick with a smile and smartly dressed

I’ve been in her house
sometimes with her
sometimes with it hollow
from her absence

Whoever lives there now:
I wonder if they know

Do they wake sensing
having been visited
by a sense of prior ownership
like the smell of coffee and french toast
wafting from some lower floor
the hum of the hub of family life
tumbling over and over
like a load of linens in the old dryer
rocking steady in the basement

I’ve been dreaming about my Grandma repeatedly this summer. It’s interesting how these unconscious meetings seem to come in waves. . . .

Thanks for reading!