In my dream
my grandfather
was there
and I thought
this is the last
time I will see
my grandfather
and then he was
gone
flickering
between a
photo
and a living,
breathing
grandfather
and in the street
a wake
of stretch
limos and bad
actors played
the part
of the mourning
I reached
for my wife
and held
her hand
she twitched
and later
I knew
the picture
was me,
my dad,
my grand-
father:
layers,
outlines,
silhouettes
that stack
and fall
like the
leaves,
indistinct
but important
to each other
in ways
we won’t
understand.

Categories: parenting, poetry

Tags: dream poetry, father identity, identity, loss, poem, poetry, postaday, William Pearse writer