Judith Barnes

In my dream, I was cleaning out a closet
that was full of black umbrellas.
I found a red one there with all the black ones.
I asked you if you knew who it belonged to.
You thought it was your mother's,
that it was there as a reminder of her,
but that the red umbrella had
never sheltered her from rain.

We puzzled over why we had so many
black ones. How had we built up
this collection of dark covers?
We discussed throwing them away,
but decided we should keep them.
We would need the black umbrellas
to shelter us from the looming
rain of sadness that we knew
would soon descend upon us.

We had so many umbrellas;
it felt good to know we had enough
to share with all the others who
would need protection from the storm.
We would stand together,
huddled in the rain, beneath
the covers from our closet,
paying tribute to your mother.

And in our midst, in flaming color,
vividly contrasting with the others,
a crimson circle will warm the scene.
Although we will not see the face
beneath the glowing circle,
we'll smile at the thought that
she is there among us,
dry and sheltered from the rain
in the glow of red reflection
that will bathe her, head to toe,
lighting paths and brightening dreams.

Waiting

Sitting, quietly, waiting in your tiny room,
are you mercifully oblivious to the encompassing doom?
The doom is not in what may be,
in dreaded unknown mystery,
but in the darkness of the here and now,
unjustly heaping sadness on your wrinkled brow.

Is the darkness like an armour, shielding
you from the fear and anger and the feelings
of confusion that I pray have slipped away?
Are you sheltered by indifference each long and empty day?
Oh Nana, you have withered like an autumn leaf all curled!
Run away, back homeward to the dancing little girl.

Take shelter in the highlands, flying like a bird.
Never mind this ending, the justice is absurd.
The flights ahead will take you to a dancing place,
to liberation, with a smile upon your face.
You'll dance in fresh new finery when your earthly flesh departs.
I see you now in tartan--the vision warms my heart.

Death, I beg you, take her. It is her rightful turn
to move on to the dancing place, her sparkle to return.
Free her from the shackles of one who waits to die--
free her to begin her journey, let her see the sky,
the blue sky of her homeland, the places that she knows,
and new sapphire skies in places the unshackled spirit goes.

Go now darlin', leave, you've done all that you can.
I thank you for your boy--my cherished, loving man.
I will care for him, I love him, more than words can say,
devoted to each other, we have found our way.
We know how much you love us, our treasured matriarch,
we gently, sadly, give you to the brilliance after dark.

Your time was long, your life was full,
you gave so much, don't let the pull
of the familiar keep you tethered to this harshness.
This life is cruel to old ones, dementia discards us.
Where is the joy in life within that tiny room?
Old is just a sentence to a darkening, moaning doom.

Go back to Scotland, Nana, and dance another fling.
Dance...begin to move...you'll hear the bagpipes sing.
Move your feet so lightly, test your freedom softly.
Whirl around, at first spin slowly, slowly.
Yield to the energy, shed the chains that weight your mind.
Embrace the clarity of youthfulness you'll find.

Don't sit quietly, waiting, in your tiny room,
clinging tightly in the confines of the tomb
to the lifeless objects of your history.
Leave them all behind, because, you see,
they are burdens to be passed with best intentions
to keepers of this coarse dimension.
Leave behind your faded coat of thin and mottled skin...
I have seen through your translucence to the dancer that's within.

Collision

what brought the two of us
together at that moment?
in an instant,
flash of recognition
flared around us.
unrelated siblings
inexorable lives
parallel dimensions
tracks in one direction
derailing to collide.

giant music blaring
glaring lights were spinning
magnified by hotly
numbing substance.
weaving through the maze
of sixties youth
unguided by example
wielding swords
of disappointment
slashing pathways
through the jungles

groping, feeling,
as if blind
smiling bravely
with bravado
obstacles were fogged by fate.
doggedly pursuing today
believing in the haven
we created with desire
for this life of blessed peace