Blue Hat Dream
Curled up on the floor. In the middle of the day. I dream.
Images of hats and pills come out of nowhere.
“I visit my garden each morning
searching the ground to see
if the unused pills I found
in my mother’s pill boxes,
and planted, had produced
a rose or purple Phlox.
I buried her tablet boxes,
buried them, like tiny coffins.
I lined the miniature graves
with crushed blue velvet,
(like the cases that stored
her elegant forks used only
on special occasions,
at four o’clock tea-time,
the cake served primly
on gold-rimmed plates).
Treading through the wet grass,
rootling through the fertile soil,
I saw, without surprise,
blue hats growing wild,
velvet and tulle,
pills and sequins
scattered and whimsical,
my mother decorating
their botanical brims
with silver cake forks
tied with ribbons”.
I wake up,
eyes blurred,
I can barely see.
I make a cup of tea,
cut a slice of currant cake,
and eat it with a small,
antique English fork.
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