In the dream,
he speaks to me in German
and I somehow understand.
I face the open window
watching clouds wrestle with the sun.
His breath, warm on my neck, mingles
with the March breeze.
He whispers, "Don't you remember?"
in my left ear.
"Nine," I sigh.
Light particles tremble and coax
me back into his chest.
I dissolve through his ribs,
feel his blood in my cheeks,
his breath coiling in my lungs.
I look out through his eyes
and watch the coming storm.
***
On the phone last night,
he spoke to me in plain English,
but I did not comprehend.
I bit my thumb nail
and stared my reflection
in the computer screen.
My breath, thick in my throat,
echoed jaggedly in the mouthpiece.
His "keep the realities clear"
sounded loud in my ear.
"Yes, I understand," I fibbed.
But after, I sat, listening to electricity
buzz, rolling three pennies in my palm.
I switched off the light,
watching my eyes
in the screen fade out.
Yet in the dark, my winced face remained.
I felt his tears wet my lips,
and I laughed, knowing.
All poems copyrighted by the author, Tracey Besmark 1997©
