POETRY ON MEDIUM

My School Teacher

Today I talked to a school teacher of mine

she looked exactly the way she looked

before she died. Mellow brown face

with huge black eyes, dark lipstick

on her purple mouth

and a smile I never had the pleasure to greet.

She read my verse on paper

that was crumpled to its roots and

her mouth traced some words I couldn’t hear

but it was kind and appreciative.

That was how I knew it was a dream,

she was ecstatic and full of life,

not gloom as I remembered her when alive.

She wasn’t a pile of ash but a wonder

that only a dream could construct.