The Dibble-Dabbler Speaks

My good friend wrote this last night . i liked it a lot , in the fact that i could relate to it on only one aspect, wondering if the person you love dreams about you. i know I'm not really sharing this poem with anyone because she who wrote this is one of my only two followers, and so I'd like to say, Sara you write beautifully, and I'm sure that the ones we love dream about us, those closest to them, all the time.


Just A Weekend In the Life of Sara Aranda


Grandmother is crying behind frustrated hands.
They wave and curl, reflecting the fight for
sanity
as she speaks unpleasantly about her 14 hour days
watching over
your mother.

Grandpa gets to run errands and do what he wants,
she says.
While I have to sit in that room all day,
she says.

Your mother, restless, awakens with eyes wide.
She tells you, in her almost nonexistent voice, that she was dreaming.
You ask her if she remembers.
She doesn’t say anything, and the minutes pass,
her eyes slowly growing heavier as they droop and
droop.
And her head permanently rests on her right
shoulder.

Grandmother is crying behind her masked face.
It cringes and tightens, reflecting the fight for
composure
as she lectures unpleasantly about how you kids aren’t
helping her and
your mother enough.

Your generation questions everything,
she says.
Why can’t you just accept reality,
she says.

Your mother, restless, awakens with eyes dazed.
She repositions her skeletal legs on the hospice bed.
You ask her if she wants another pillow for her swollen feet.
She doesn’t say anything, and the minutes pass,
her eyes slowly growing heavier as they droop and
droop.
And her mouth is permanently sticky and full of
phlegm.

Your mother is tired of everything,
she says.
Her body is failing her,
she says.
I’ve already lost one daughter,
she says.
Your mother is dying,
she says.

You sit in a chair in the downstairs bedroom.
You watch your mother awaken and fall asleep
over and over again.
Never saying much at all.
She coughs, and sometimes smiles at you,
but never speaks unless she has to.

I want to know what she dreams about,
you once told a good friend.
I think what she dreams about is you,
he said.
And you cried