Photo by Alessio Lin on Unsplash

Mother’s Dream

I dreamed of my Dad: he stood
at the edge while I nursed
my unborn child. His hollow haunted
face gave me a fright; I felt
a chill in my heart to hear
the voice of one long dead and gone.
“I’ve come for Roger Dean, there is
a place he must see.” But no,
he belongs with me and not
on some alabaster stone.
They say disturbing dreams can be
expected by the one expectant
waiting for the first born child.
But all I know is Daddy came
for my Roger Dean and now
they have gone into the night
while I am left alone to grieve.

To support the poet’s benign coffee addiction: Coffee.