Grandmother Dream

(c) 2004 

Because though Grandma is dead, I suppose,

she sits at the kitchen table waiting on me

to braid her hair. Hair too fine to interlace and hold

although twining is inevitable.

My need is to at last embrace what is or could be mine.

Because I am one of five grand daughters as easily

her favorite as any other. Because I am the one

who returned bible verses volleyed over burnt toast and tea.

Because the way of dreams is what is missing is missing,

and what is needed is needed.

Because her ghost fades, I seek permission

from her son who has no authority to grant what I, after all,

may only grant myself.

Because I root through Grandma’s jewelry box for mementos

he calls me a locket toucher and says,

claim her credulous belief in the supernatural; it is what you are meant to do.

One brooch or another, Grandma spooled a spiritual thread

and I live to find my own pull ends and pull starts.