The Dream

That night I had slept peacefully, no repeating of the nightmare of a few nights before. In my dream I had heard a voice. The voice was loud and clear. “Clifford Olson is dead.” There was no repetition, no explanation, only my son’s name and the stark pronouncement. I fought out of the terror, to wakefulness. The realization that I had been dreaming slowed my racing heart but did not dim the horror. Throughout that day and a few days to follow, the voice followed, repeating the phrase, over and over. I had spoken to my son. He was fine. The voice still rang in my ears. That night I had slept peacefully. Then a voice again. This time it was soft, sweet and sorrowful, my daughter’s voice. “Mama, Mama wake up.” By: Joyce Johnson Won first place For Constance~ A Rambling Poet contest, "Create Your Own Form, Maybe?