Dreams of You

I was walking down the sidewalk with friends and saw you, sitting behind a large plate glass window. You were wrapped in a large blanket and smiling. I waved and you waved back. I continued on, wishing to leave you in peace, but thought again and came back around. I went up the steps and gave my name. It appears you were staying in a hospice of some kind. I went down the narrow halls, through the darkness, and sat with you. Your face was black and blue, and you spoke animatedly of hearing death, something your father had taught you. It was an intense moment, desperate and close. And then you told me you could not eat sweets and crawled across the floor and produced a specialized beer that fermented in your glass. I drank a can of Budweiser. And then many of others were there, banging on the plate glass window. Someone tore up a tree and wielded it like a toy, and I yelled at him for that. But I didn’t know him. And then I was on to something else.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.