in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011

 

I saw my mom again, just before I woke up. She was wearing her 1980s’ glasses, knit navy pants and a paisley button-down shirt. Why are you here? Why is it that each time you appear in my dreams, you appear younger?

 

Same corner of the yard. Sitting on the picnic table.

 

The bell sounded in the center of the clock, in the center of me, fading with each strike.

 

More leaf buds. The trees look hungry.

 

This is truly the only green section of the yard. The front is all live oak shade and live oak acorns and crunchy live oak leaves. The other side of the back yard is dirt and sawdust with a few straggling leaf blades. But this green–this winter rye–deep and fluffy.

 

I can hardly hear the birds. Only the trees.

 

Hi, Clover. Where’s Polo? Ah, in a sunny ditch.

 

Close my eyes.

 

My dad used to nap in the sun on the farm after a big lunch.

 

Close my eyes again.