You know how some dreams just stick with you?
Like a note superglued
to a mirror in your brain.
and no matter how long it’s been
since you last thought about them,
they’re as vivid as they were that morning?
I have one of those.
It was night time and those yellow streetlamps
that always make me sad
bathed our porch in a dull gold.
Mom’s hibiscus flowers
lay scattered next to the makeshift swing
you’d put up for me.
And I remember thinking she’d scream at you
if she sees them.
That lady who would always come
with stale spinach and turnips from her yard
walked up the steps
and shook her head as
she handed me a bunch of carrots.
I’m still not quite sure
if she said anything that night,
but I knew, that in the dream,
that we’d been rendered
Six year old me
couldn’t fathom the fact that you’d never
ditch a movie to watch stars in the parking lot with me,
stand patiently as I held onto your waist and screamed into your office shirt, while mom tried to untangle my hair,
bundle me up in the blue blanket and watch tv with me for hours,
let me parade around in your flying boots, aviators, and an undershirt and call me ‘Captain’,
race me to the car to get me ready on time,
levy ‘Dad tax’ on my ice cream instead of getting your own
Twenty year old me still can’t.
I remember waking up crying
and running outside as mom asked what happened.
There you were,
picking up the stray, red flowers.
You grinned when you saw me,
“Not a word of this to your mother”.
Written by Natasha Kumar
Artwork : Bill Dinkins (fineartamerica.com)