Mary Black Bonnet
Turkey Day plus two,
you walked into my dream.
Apologizing your tardiness,
you were checking on the kids.
We talked, laughed,
I almost forgot you were dead.
We watched someone’s children playing outside,
you told me to be careful, they’d need me.
Your meaning slipped by me at the time,
then the boys came.
My precursor to mother hood.
I remember the day you died…
the deep, gut- level, body wracking sobs
that only come from true sorrow.
The way I hid in my truck,
cried myself into a state of sleep.
Not caring if I ever woke up.
We gathered together again
and found resolve to somehow go on.
Knowing if we gave up,
you’d be pissed.
I left for my own house that night,
completely spent and numb.
I saw you walking down the road..
you smiled and waved.
And I knew you were home.