I dreamt of wild flowers
in a field filled with little girls
blowing hair off handfuls
of dandelions. Little boys chasing
two headed giraffes, and grandmother
holding up her famous peace cobbler
to the sun yelling for everyone to come
and get some.
Hungry, I headed towards the
house but stopped as I saw you there
holding baby Johnny in your arms
soothing him with one of those lullabies
you used to make up. The sound of rhythmic
clicks played just beyond your words.
When I opened my eyes, I was sitting alongside
your bed, your chest rising and falling as the
respirator forced air into your uninterested
lungs.
Arlene Antoinette enjoys writing poetry and flash fiction. More of her work may be found at: Sick Lit Mag, GIRLSENSE AND NONSENSE and Boston Accent Lit.
