Random Poem

From World of Made and Unmade

Jane Mead

In my dream my mother comes with me.

 

We are in the meadows we call

The Flats, walking the dogs.

 

Walk straight past the water trough,

she says, do not engage the moss.

 

Go back to the top of the page,

the dream says, and leave out the suicides.

 

In my dream I walk and walk.

 

After a time — no mother.

After a time — no dogs.

 

Just the field of dry grasses

and me and the walking.

 

 

Then just the walking.