Just days after my father's death, and there he was again,
in a dream, but this time as my boss--
I a mere scribe in an office down the hall.

I sat behind a hopeless desk with papers piled high,
and yet more papers scattered in piles on the floor.
There was so much to be done: schedules and appointments,
meetings, other horrific tasks no doubt waiting
among the mounds of paperwork.

The best I could do for that night, though,
was to gather the mess together in a semblance
of order so that the next day would not be
so overwhelming.

And the stars in the clear night sky
beckoned through my window,
so I turned out the light and walked down
the hall.

I knocked on the boss's door.

"Come in!" It was a cheerful voice,
unburdened. (If there is one gift
that parents should give their children,
it is that they themselves should be unburdened.)

"Just dropped in to say good-night, dad."

He sat behind a large cherry desk, polished
so clean that the single lamplight made the top
reflect the light like glass.

There was not a stray morsel anywhere in that office
of his. No papers, no notebooks, no appointment
calendars. No phone that I could tell.

He sat there in the half-light,
regal, composed and proper, but not
bearing down, not heavy with any
weight real or imagined.

And before I could say another word,
 
he stood up sprightly
and said "Good-night, Jay!"

And with that, he walked past me
and out the door.



(c) 2005

There seems a release in this dream, a knowledge that comes [if you're lucky] that they are well out of it now.  It took me many dreams with variations on the same theme before I woke up relaxed on some level.  This is all to say, I identify with this one.  The reality of the dream is palpable.

Wasn't sure the end line of S2 "among the mounds of paperwork" was needed. 

But was sure I like this.
Lynn

Gee, I'd forgotten that I put this up here. This is for the most part a mere recounting of an actual dream I had a few days or so after my father died. It probably needs to stand as a work-in-progress toward a poem rather than a poem itself. In fact I remember writing it quickly mostly because I didn't want to forget it.

Marvelous story, I agree!
If you do edit, Jay, I'd like to be clearer who N is referring to by "they themselves" in S6, the parents themselves or the children themselves.
Tom

Silent is busy digging up treasure!

having recently lost a parent, I can relate very closely to this piece. great writing, Jay. held me from start to finish.

my favourite lines ~ I wish they reflected my own parenting!
"........(If there is one gift
that parents should give their children,
it is that they themselves should be unburdened.)"

Stella

Love this, the symbolism of the two desks...yours so piled hgh your dad's cleared...

Sometimes dreams can be so obviously symbolic. Thankfully. Look forward to this being turned into a poem.

BTW, Jay, I'll happily stand by and see if you turn it into more of a poem but to me, this is a great deal of a poem just as it is, and beyond the one unclear spot I asked about above, it's a fine one at that.

I can identify with this as the anniversary of my mother's passing was yesterday.  I read through it twice...three times.  On the third reading it was much more striking in its symbolism but the part where he sprightly stands up and walks out the door without saying anything more leaves me a little sad...no whisper of a touch...nothing.  What a dream you had rich in symbolism!

Hi Jay

I really like this - to me it has a lovely fresh, spontaneous vividness, like a Turner sketch.

Just love (even though it brought on major parenting guilt!):

 If there is one gift that parents should give their children, it is that they themselves should be unburdened.

and:

and with that, he walked past me and out the door.

Regards,

Roger

to Picks. Tom