John D. Hamilton
"Letter"
I had a dream last night,
you were my father.
You stood
barefoot in the grass by the grill,
cooked a steak,
sipped a margarita,
and smiled.
Eyes scanned the well cut lawn
from yard edge to yard edge,
head nodding slightly in sober approval.
My mother was a poet, also.
She picked grapes,
wrote words on strips of paper-
Leaves she tossed to the grass.
"Sleep now and at dawn
I'll sew the night into the day for you."
She would say to me
as I drifted calmly into a sleep
I would not fear.
Posted March1, 1997
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