Where melted faces stare, from a memory of a dream.
I hear a whisper, "You don't have to enter."
Shaking, I walk in, see white.
Death surrounds me. When I look at her body,
my heart shatters, and I cry.
I leave to see my mom crying.
outside the hospital room.
A numbness takes over my body.
I shut my eyes and see the dream,
her head wrapped in red stained bandages of white.
The beginning of the heartless zone I am entering.
I let no feelings exit, enter.
I leave the hospital, stop crying.
My mom is pale, white.
We get in the car, enclosed. I push for more room.
As we traveled through town, the dream
keeps crawling in my mind, her broken body.
We lean over the table, my mind far from my body.
People speak to me, and I enter
life again. Speak up, I can't see. My dream
is still on her. I see my cousins crying
in the hallway, strong men weak, waiting by a hospital room.
I move my chair closer to the wall that is white.
The suit they picked is blue and white.
She looks like she is sleeping in her body,
but she is gone. We left the funeral room,
my dad too afraid to enter.
As we drive in the car, I watch my mom crying.
Mom tells me to remember her like this in my dreams.
The people seated neatly in rows is a like a dream.
People dressed in black and white,
stand to say a prayer. Everyone is crying.
I feel out of control, out of my body.
We lay roses, one for each grandchild, on her casket as it entered
the hearse. So many roses there is no more room
The dream of the hearse drives away as the sky starts to cry.
White flowers surround the church. In the basement room
nobody talks as I enter.
Deidre Grotbo
