Mammaw Minnie came to me in a dream recently,
As a child near the age I was when she died.
She wore the dress and hair ribbon I’d seen in an old photograph.
Until the dream I did not know they were yellow.
Relatives drifted in and out of familiar old rooms,
Everyone laughed and talked at once.
I sat near the old black telephone
When she came over to me.
We greeted each other as confidantes,
And she sat on the floor at my feet.
Dreamlike, only I recognized her, acknowledged her.
As I looked into dark mirroring eyes,
I can not recall a single word.
The old phone rang rudely,
Its bad news dispersing the family.
Mammaw sprang to her feet agilely, poised to run.
“Wait.” I touched her arm. “Come home with me.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I have other places to go.”
I awoke filled with a wonder which, even now, haunts my soul.
Like light radiating from a star,
It’s as though in life her physical form
Was imprisoned, due to limited capabilities,
Within a narrow visible spectrum.
But, in a dream, I viewed the light outside the perceivable
And glimpsed my grandmother’s boundless spirit,
Eternally young and beautiful,
Endlessly and totally free.