Dreams of Mother

A dawn-drawn dream of me with my mother. Teri and I seem to be in the big room, the TV room. She wants me to adjust the window blinds. I am not really happy with the idea, but what else can a dependent son do but oblige. As I am fixing the blinds the way she wants, the room seems to blend into my bedroom, with my bookshelves near the window. As I am moaning over my displeasure with the way she wants the blinds, she deflects me by pointing to the shelves and saying, "I like the way you are looking at me in that one." I figured she is talking about a photo of her that I keep there, but I am mistaken. In this dream world, there is another photo there, and she hands it to me. I have never seen it before. It is a black & white picture. I am a baby in it, and we are lying on a mattress on the floor. She is on her back and holding me up. As I am looking and studying this photo, I am deeply moved, but I try to focus harder to make sure that it is what I am seeing (as I am sure about seeing her but not so sure if that is me), the photo in my hand changes, becoming almost like a mini-computer screen, like a Kindle, and even becomes like a movie, with people streaming into the room, so that I can no longer make us out.

Poetry

“A poem is an empty suitcase that you can never quit emptying.”

-- Kay Ryan

Pop

I was about to heat up some frozen pizza, when Arthudo offers me one of his hamburger patties. He made three of them. I gladly take him up on this offer. The less frozen pizza in my diet, the better. And a good piece of ground beef is very solid and reliable - a good healthy sandwich (unless you are a vegetarian or on a diet). He said, "It's made with a lot of love." It's more humorous than sentimental. He is not without a stock of expressions, which is something that strikes you when you overhear him talking on the phone. They usually aren't brilliancies, but they are more than I would have been inclined to credit him with. And it is striking that this is what came to his mind.