Lunch With Father

[71degrees]

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.

Edit

I dreamed I had lunch with my dead father;
his talk of this and that and everything
told me little about what a son needs to hear

But after the potato soup sprinkled with salt
and the buttered cornbread, he remarked
he had recently met again the vender
from the farmer’s market on Barstow Street,
the woman in the straw hat who had sold us
clingstone peaches with all their promise of flavor
and how happy he was that she had brought him
some before moving on to meet her own daughter

He asked for a glass of milk and a brownie
and continued on about mother and Lisa,
how it could have been but wasn’t really,
and what seemed like a hundred other
dream moments, selecting only the ones
I wanted to hear about before I realized
he existed only as a fiber of something
much larger, something that spirals toward
a pinpoint of light off somewhere in the distance
to another lunch I will have with my sons,
a plate of fried pasta and how much more
I will say to them then than I say to them now

---

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— it is important that that line is short, gives it emphasis and punch
how there is warmth under crusted snow;
how someone will always be waiting for me,
even the venders at a farmer’s market, this is a nice visual with a physical to back it up
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 love the last two lines they sound so melancholy

not a lot to add to my comments the flow and tempo are ok, perhaps room for improvement?

Redsmurf, Sorry didn't see your response until after I posted an edited version. Let me know what you think if you have time.