Dream Marks on My Pillow

Create a New Post on your blog and include some new writing connected to the drawing of a pillow we sketched and discussed in class on Wednesday.  You might work your thoughts into a longer poem or a shorter bit of prose or even both.  Try for about 150- 200 words at least on this one.  You can copy and paste the image from here, and if you'd like to, you can leave a comment on this post.  I've included some writing I did (several years ago) below.

Dream Marks on My Pillow by Ana Iancu

Last night before bed, I stepped out onto the front porch while Booker T. raced with a predatory growl towards the woods behind our house.  I waited for him to return, a triumphant skip in his step telling me all was safe and sound thanks to him, and from there on the front steps I noticed there was no moon out, or at least not one I could see.  A few stars dotted the sky but the yard was darker than usual and my big black dog crept back up beside me almost camouflaged.

I had been thinking of her off and on all day--my sweet Nanny who left us in June--and another round of loss swept through me there...no moonlight only made me miss her more. I scratched Booker's ears and cried, soft so that no one would hear, as if anyone was listening at that time of night.

I'll never be a little girl again.

I'll never see her shrug her shoulders

the way she always did.

I'll never see her handwriting on a

letter in my mailbox.

I'll never see her listening with interest

to my little boy's chatter the way she

always delighted in whatever I had to say.

I'll never see her again.

Ryan let Macauley sleep with us--a real treat on a school night--and with puffy eyes I slipped into the tiny sliver of our king size bed left for me, my son's now long legs tucked in close to mine and my big black dog in a ball at my feet, my husband miles of blankets and pillows away. Our room was dark and warm and I read only a few pages of my book before I floated into sleep.

And then, she was there...standing on my front walk, reaching out to me with a piece of paper in her hand.  He was there, too, a few feet behind her and to the side in dark blue jeans and the striped shirt he had on in their only picture with Macauley when he was a baby.  I grabbed her and squeezed her and cried for her to stay.  She just stood there and let me, still holding the paper.

I blinked and turned to see the numbers on the clock pushing me to start another day. I stared at the ceiling, making myself remember seeing her, knowing how dreams come and go if you don't commit them to long-term memory...like so many days I spent with her or spent not with her...they just slip away.

I could have cried in the car this evening when I told Ryan about the dream on the way to dinner. He said maybe it was a sign but he didn't say of what.  If I cry for her again tonight, will she be there on my front steps when I close my eyes?

Knowing I miss her,
will she reappear tonight 

when I close my eyes?

This song reminds me of what I wrote...