The View from Here

The Dream

I was back in the dream again last night,
One that has become an old foe,
Stumbling through the home of my youth,
The old house on Westwood Lane.
It was dark and stormy,
Lace curtains dancing wildly through open windows,
Lightning flashing on the silent piano in corner.
I walked through each room,
Seeing the ghosts of the past,
So many memories,
As always,
The house was empty,
Silent, except for the storm.
Here my dream changed;
Suddenly, my mother walked into the room,
The mother of my youth,
Standing tall, her face smooth,
She embraced me, stroking my hair,
The dream so real that I could smell her fragrance,
Feel the love emanating from her,
Recharging my weary spirit.
We stayed locked in our embrace
As my mother began to talk to me,
“Let go of this dream, Neese,
You can’t go back, you can only go forward.
That is the only way, that is life.
Let go and open your heart to what comes next.”
She wiped away my salty tears,
Kissed me, and was gone.
I awoke to the sound of rain,
Lying next to my husband in the early morning light,
My heart at peace,
My mother’s fragrance still in the air.