Sometime between Wednesday and Thursday, I dreamed
my house was under siege.
I walked beside Hyppolita, discussing tactics
While burly men in furs and leather
Put out fires on my roof.
Sometime between Thursday and Friday, I dreamed
my father, and my grandfather (dead these many years)
walked side by side in the woods behind my house,
along the river, chatting and watching my grandson swim
close to the bank. Every once in a while,
Dad pulled William back from going too far. William, for his part
Sometime between Friday and Saturday, I dreamed
Chris was being held in a church, down on the Green.
The same church he used to attend AA meetings in.
They were holding him for execution,
because he’d overdosed. How ironic, that lethal injection.
Why? I screamed outside. Why are you doing this to him?
In the early hours of Saturday morning, I woke
confused, bolting out of bed so I could get to the church
before they killed my son. It took a few minutes
between sleep and awake
to realize I was still in bed,
in the early hours of a Saturday,
of this after, not the before.
I saw Wonder Woman on Wednesday
My grandson on Tuesday
On June 22, my son will be gone a full two years.
How the brain mashes up the everyday with
its inner-workings. How marvelous.
How utterly extraordinary.