Sometimes I dreamed of you. I paced the floor when I couldn’t sleep and wondered why you left me. I wrote poetry and cried in the dark. Occasionally, I visited my mother who now lived peacefully on the family farm. Mostly, she sat on the balcony and looked out to the koi pond. She liked to watch the fish swim around after her daily walk.
“Why are you sad?” she says, when she sees me.
“I'm alright Mama, just not sleeping well.” She begins to hum the Elvis tune she used to sing to me as a child while I sat with her on the swing and watched the fireflies flutter and rise all over the yard.
“You know, as a child, the first story you wrote was called, The Super Fish,” my mother says. My eyes follow the bluegills in the pond, as she whispers, '' I always think of you and your magic. Hold on to it, my dear”
Later, as I laid my head down on a soft pillow, I was finally able to sleep. I dreamt I could fly. I flew all over and around with the ability to see you. I found you in the meadow gazing at the lazy wildflowers, you, my man who had vanished. There were track marks covering your arms. And your eyes were as black as the evening sky, before you mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sad?” she says, when she sees me.
“I'm alright Mama, just not sleeping well.” She begins to hum the Elvis tune she used to sing to me as a child while I sat with her on the swing and watched the fireflies flutter and rise all over the yard.
“You know, as a child, the first story you wrote was called, The Super Fish,” my mother says. My eyes follow the bluegills in the pond, as she whispers, '' I always think of you and your magic. Hold on to it, my dear”
Later, as I laid my head down on a soft pillow, I was finally able to sleep. I dreamt I could fly. I flew all over and around with the ability to see you. I found you in the meadow gazing at the lazy wildflowers, you, my man who had vanished. There were track marks covering your arms. And your eyes were as black as the evening sky, before you mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”
