Thursday, April 9, 2009


I awoke in chambered cairns of memory
Perhaps I was dreaming in French
or my dead mother coming to visit, 
as if fresh from the bath
all turban-toweled, with a Matisse 
glide, dancers against a blue wall,
she opened a door down a long hall, 
and disappeared from view.
I willed her back to finish the sequence
but the dream didn't cooperate. 
It was done with me.
Was she come to claim me,
her firstborn, to join her second son,
or was she just passing through?


memory poem

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