by Doris Grace
Write from the image
not from the theme. I never
took much stock in dreams,
but listen:
I know the truth from your face—
Gene is dead.
My dad walked in on his dad dead.
This was the image:
salmon overalls, clean-shaven face.
You told me that you never
You told me, Listen:
I never took much stock in dreams.
I also had dreams—
a child afraid of the dead—
strained in the dark to listen:
For what image?
I never
Saw your face.
My great grandmother saw your face
and saw her dreams
(that you never
took much stock in): Gene was dead.
That exact image.
You were chosen to listen.
Stop. Stop. Listen. Listen.
Your shrieking at night, your sweaty face,
A day-old kitten, the image:
Also shrieking in its dreams.
Later it died.
But you never
You told me that you never
knew to listen,
and I knew he was dead,
but I didn’t know your face:
Even in dreams
I couldn’t imagine.
Listen: I know from your face:
I never took much stock in dreams.
Write from the image.