Dreaming Through Covid
Most nights I dream of the dead,
my mother telling me, my father agreeing,
that we all feel afraid sometimes.
That’s what the counselors tell us.
I rescued a dog but she bit my friend.
Someone is dreaming about her daughter.
I want my mother to come back
to dream about me.
I stand in a crowd and everyone offers me
caviar, wine, and crisp crusts with smoked salmon.
Will someone come to get me when I die?
Today my nephew called to say he dreamed
about his Nonny and Papa, about going
to their house on Sunday, but I wasn’t there.
He said that he didn’t want me to die
until I gave him Nonny’s red sauce recipe.
Today the peace plant unfurled two new
cupped white heads, shiny and perfect.
Only two days ago, I considered, its leaves
tiresome, moving it downstairs.
About the Author: Maryfrances Wagner’s books include Salvatore’s Daughter, Light Subtracts Itself, Red Silk (Thorpe Menn Book Award for Literary Excellence), Dioramas, Pouf, The Silence of Red Glass, and The Immigrants’ New Camera. Poems have appeared in New Letters, Midwest Quarterly, Laurel Review, Natural Bridge, Voices in Italian Americana, Unsettling America: An Anthology of Contemporary Multicultural Poetry (Penguin Books), Literature Across Cultures (Pearson/Longman), Bearing Witness, The Dream Book, An Anthology of Writings by Italian American Women (American Book Award from the Before Columbus Foundation), et.al. She co-edits I-70 Review and served as Missouri’s Individual Artist of the Year for 2020.
Image Credit: Digitally enhanced illustration excerpted from the Biodiversity Heritage Library. South African botany London, Longmans, Green,1922. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/37736321 Creative Commons License 2.0.