Lunch With Father

[Mr. Creosote]

I dreamed I had lunch with my dead father,
he talked of this and that, and everything,
and even when hearing nothing told me something.

After the potato soup sprinkled with salt,
after the warm corn bread muffins with butter,
he told me secrets—
how there is warmth under crusted snow;
how someone will always be waiting for me,
even the venders at a farmer’s market,
the ones in straw hats who sell clingstone peaches
with all their promises of flavor;
but especially how the earth bears all things,
even my sadness.

I lost my father 9 years ago unexpectedly and I have had many talks of this kind with him since his death. I think you do a good job of making a dream conversation...it is not the conversation that you would have with your father if you were awake, correct?

I do think you could build on what I saw as a progression from disconnected images to concrete thoughts. I see you as slowly becoming more conscious (waking) by the end of the poem. I think you could strengthen this.

The hardest part of a dream about a person that you have lost is the waking realization that it was a dream and I think you capture that.

Anyhow, thanks for the great read