The night she died
I had a dream.
She was walking
on an uphill footpath
toward an illuminated place.
Leaving me for the last time.
She turned. Smiling.
Thrilled to see me.
Baby sister knew I feared
to carry on without her.
“You’ll be OK.
I’ll wait here for you.”
Martha Ellen lives alone in an old Victorian house on a hill on the Oregon coast. Retired social worker. She writes poems and prose to process the experiences of her wild life.
I love this poem and sent it to a friend who just lost her baby brother (age 89). I want this to be true about my deceased loved ones too. Thank you.