Abstruse

[71degrees]

Mother was afraid
she might go to hell;
never a real believer,
she faced mornings
like she faced father,
with sharp pins in her hair.
Sleep spoke a language
she refused to believe;
often awake in the middle
of the night, a blind cry
away from morning,
thinking about her old dishes,
her worn towels, shoes
she wanted but could not afford —
she dreamed a moving van
would save her; other nights
she dreamed her children’s faces
stared down at her from great heights.

Good example of how money or lack of it can cause serious depression. Makes me think on focusing on the good and what we have as opposed to what we do not have. Things can always get worse, or at least we can see others who have it worse. I like the poem and think it works well as an expressive piece. I prefer to hear more positive energy but life is not always positive. I identify with her mistakes - her focus points, and wish I could tell her something great to pick her up again! I like the term of dreaming language, being that dreams can often speak to us in their own language, and I think you caught that well. Nice job overall.

Dreams are somewhere between life and death. Thanks for your comments.