Bio: I am generally known to be a good sleeper, and often have vivid dreams. I don't as often remember them, but this one felt like a gift, and I awakened feeling less bereft after the death by suicide of someone I dearly loved. Poetry has also been a means of finding solace, and in this case, I was able to merge the two in a way that felt both honoring and cathartic.
"... All poets
understand the final uselessness of words...."
In my dream you were reborn —
playing under shading palm fronds
in some island jungle I recognized you,
your toes sunk in the loamy earth.
You were foreign and your tongue
no longer knew my name.
You used coconuts for cricket balls,
Your name meant tea.
You were a child, I was still me.
You were lost to me for a time
in a place I couldn't reach,
your body freshly formed.
©2019 Betsy Mars
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