Marjorie A. Buettner...

The Day After

The day after my birthday, I dreamed you were driving silently into that exploding future all of us fear and I wanted to turn back, but I knew you thought our death would be easier this way, together, straight ahead, into the white heat of it. Flashes of an unlived future scrolled across my vision (our children, the sun-room with plants, the oak table with my notebooks), all of it belonging to us but unfamiliar and lost to that white light which, while driving, seemed to vacuum us into its center--one speck of dust, sparkling for an instant in the late afternoon sun, then gone.

after the dream how tender the morning sun on your face

WHCHaibun 2001-04-03