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Poetry at Main Street Cafe

Poetry at Main Street Cafe

122 Main Street
North Easton, Massachusetts 02356


I Dreamt of His Death

Lamenting my loss, I stood at his grave

angry at myself for not telling Tim,

before he died, how I felt, my heart’s rave,

that I was genuinely fond of him.

Wanting, relief, I stomped my feet around,

angrily, with my fists, I shook the hurt.

Then in a fit of rage, dropped to the ground,

and with my fingers tore at the vile dirt.

I screamed, my voice piercing the still of death,

the quiet echoing, I crouched aching.

Cold mourning air swallowed my wispy breath,

and my heart, in its hollow lay breaking.

Then the vision, the dream faded away,

and I knew he still lived and what I’d say.

Marina Pickett

March 2005

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