September dreams and wishes

As it gets closer to the anniversary of Paul's death day, my dreams about him become more vivid. It's happened like this for twelve years. I also think about all the things he's missed in all that time. Here are a few poems on those subjects written in years past and photos in his memory.

Wishing Dreams

I used to think when I dreamed about him

He was near. That if I reached out far enough

I could touch him. That if I looked hard enough

I could see him.  Last night

The tears streaming out of his eyes

Were so real I could taste them

And I knew

They were mine.

Paul's Bench

September 23, 2002

The phone rang once

Startling me awake

From a deep sleep

I jumped out of bed to answer it

Knocking over the Waterford

Crystal perfume bottle

On the way.

And to naught –

There was no one on the line.

I looked over at the clock

Only 5 a.m. but I was up for

This day, September 23, 2002,

The third anniversary of Paul’s death

A day that I dreaded for so long

And all I could think

Paul was calling to check in

Letting us know he was still around

Somewhere, And somehow

That one ring was a comfort rather

Than a wake up call.

The Wishing Dream

I startled and opened my eyes

Wide in disbelief

There was Paul

Standing by my bed

Calm, quiet, his lips turned up in

The little smile I remembered so well.

I reached up to touch him

His pale skin was cool, dry and very real,

Very much alive.

Mom, I’m back, I’ve come back

I really didn’t mean to leave forever

Two years ago.

And as he spoke the tears began

Pouring from my eyes

I was crying for all the days

I’d missed him, mourned him, looked for him

How I scoured the faces of all the

Young men who passed by.

The ones with short blonde hair,

Beautiful blue eyes

Fringed in black lashes

How I listened for his music

Every time I heard a jazz piano tune

In a bar, on the radio, on a CD

How I remembered him everywhere I went

Under the pier in Manhattan Beach

On the wide red-tile stoop outside Starbucks

In a dingy piano bar on Avenue A in New York’s lower East side

In the kitchen chomping on a handful of almonds

In his room where his jazz records still stand

In neat ordered rows on the shelf.

I got up and went to him

Giving him a welcoming hug

Never wanting to let him go again.

September 29, 2001

 Paul's Tree