Even the sweetest of dreams
Can taste like nightmares
In my sleep, they come back to me.
When I’m lucky,
only the good parts will find me here.
Memories of my old home,
of the old me,
of the ghosts of my family.
When I open my eyes to this dream that holds my most precious memories,
to the ones that somehow hurt me more than all the rest,
it is always the same. . .
I’ll watch the sun stream through the window in dusty beams as it kisses my mother’s face.
I’ll sit with my grandmother as she crochets and watches Cold Case.
I’ll lay on my back in the grass and watch our cat catch summer flies.
I’ll toss a ball around with my brother and play a game of chase.
We’ll listen to my father play guitar and pretend it might actually take him someplace.
I’ll play one last time with our dog in the front yard and wish with all my heart that he wasn’t gone.
When I watch the sun cut past the trees and down below the train tracks,
it will be for the last time,
and for the thousandth.
When I wake up,
I will have lost them all over again.
Now safe only in my dreams.