In the dream, there’s a forgotten pasture I can’t stop finding, just as, when I’m there, I can’t stop feeling at ease, at home—and isn’t that, before, what it was? Familiar clearing at the edge of the wilderness, whose centered oak created shade and, much later, lightning? As for family—Yes—and all of them—and with little variation each struggling to brush the fallen hair from her face or hoping, if only briefly, someone would touch his hand. I live—like I live; they do what they can for me. It’s as if we’re all worth loving, and worth forgiving, both. In the dream, there’s a forgotten pasture I can’t stop finding—and often, family, waiting there with a gesture of tenderness: fingers on my cheek, resting lightly, making me want, almost, to pull someone (myself?) back. I can feel all the washed out stones, start to whisper deep inside me, their faded verse singing.
Terry L. Kennedy is Associate Director of the University of North Carolina at Greensboro MFA Writing Program, Editor of the online journal storySouth, and Associate Editor of The Greensboro Review. His poems, essays, and reviews appear in variety of journals and magazines including Cave Wall, from the Fishouse, O. Henry Magazine, Oxford American, and Southern Review.
Photo credit: EricBerthe, morguefile.com