C is for Conversation (in dreams)… with Cindy: I found this Dream Poem in the archives. For a year or two after she died of cancer, I often had dreams about my late colleague, Cindy. I thought I’d share it as I prepare for an upcoming writing retreat, during which I’ll be teaching a session on writing poems from dreams–as I’ve done here. (In memory of a friend, co-worker, and bright spirit.)
She looks good
Spiky hair, frosted,
The way it was between bouts
Of chemo. I call out to her
And we take seats in some cafe
Where we eat pastries and get caught up.
“How long can you stay?” I ask.
It’s good having her back
Talking, the way we used to in the office
When we’d sit at the lunch table
Stuff envelopes, complain about the boss.
She’s doing that now: complaining about her boss.
“In heaven? You have a boss there?” I ask.
She nods. I begin to wonder.
“You did make it to heaven, right — ”
She brushes the question aside.
“Heaven basically sucks,” she says.
She tells me she has a little house there, a job that almost pays the bills,
and lots of people to talk to.
“Then death is just like life,” I say.
I’m pleased to hear it. I want to keep…
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