#2: Pastry and Conversation with Cindy on a Night When the Veils are Thin
She looks good
Spiky hair, frosted,
The way it was between bouts
Of chemo. I call out to her
And we take seats in some cafe
Where we eat pastries and get caught up.
“How long can you stay?” I ask.
It’s good having her back
Talking, the way we used to in the office
When we’d sit at the lunch table
Stuff envelopes, complain about the boss.
She’s doing that now: complaining about her boss.
“In heaven? You have a boss there?” I ask.
She nods. I begin to wonder.
“You did make it to heaven, right — ”
She brushes the question aside.
“Heaven basically sucks,” she says.
She tells me she has a little house there, a job that almost pays the bills,
and lots of people to talk to.
“Then death is just like life,” I say.
I’m pleased to hear it. I want to keep doing this
Living thing. Sitting in my dining room, say,
Looking past a vase of yellow lillies
Out the window where a chipmunk scurries up a pine.
“Pretty much.” Cindy exhales the words like a mouthful of smoke,
“Except without your loved ones,” she adds.
“That part really does suck,” I agree.
I take a bite of my Danish. “You’re sure you’re in Heaven?”
I want to ask, but Cindy gets up. Her boss only gave her so much time off,
she needs to get back. That damn boss again!
Just like always.
Reblogged this on All the Snooze That's Fit to Print and commented:
C is for Conversation (in dreams)… with Cindy: I found this Dream Poem in the archives. For a year or two after she died of cancer, I often had dreams about my late colleague, Cindy. I thought I’d share it as I prepare for an upcoming writing retreat, during which I’ll be teaching a session on writing poems from dreams–as I’ve done here. (In memory of a friend, co-worker, and bright spirit.)