[Poetry Warp] Sunday, April 25, 8:35 A.M.

So I woke up this morning after a particularly intense dream about my father. He was on the roof of the garage of our old house on Silman and was making something on the roof with rope. It was my Mom's name. At this point of the dream, the thought hit me (unwanted and rather rudely) that this could not be happening. Particulary in light of having been dreaming about kicking asses with strange, dreaming martial arts (which is more what I like to dream about).

But when I woke up, I realized rather sharply that I couldn't just call my Dad and tell him about this crazy dream. I hate when that happens. So I wrote a poem (first draft) about it:

and sometimes I wake up with the
ghost of you on me
like the cotton of my sheets or
the skin of my limbs

remembering you are
the fine sand of Folly Beach

remembering that I have lost
the only man who loved
me without preamble or addendum
not even in the moments between dreams and waking
with the ghost of you on me-

I thought we would have more time

and now,

sometimes I wake up with the
ghost of you on me
like the cotton of my sheets or
the skin of my limbs,

only just realizing that you are gone