I lie in morning sleep. I dream
I’m in my mother’s house, holding my father,
a bag of bones in my arms, blanket wrapped
‘round his rooster foot body.
across the screened-in porch where laundry goes
from dirty to clean. He likes the rain. He’s light
in my arms. I can’t see
his face, but
I know it is my dad I am holding.
Brenda Gaba lives in Dallas where she is a member of The Writer’s Garret.