Epilogue
Jen Schalliol
And then, one night,
my dead grandfather dreamt of me. He phoned.
“You had a farm,”
he said, his smile audible again.
“You were real proud
of your big farm. When I woke up,” he said,
“it stuck with me.
I remember every bit of it.”
“You were showing
off all of your big tractors. You and I
“were having fun.
That was the best dream I've had in a long,
“long time.” And then
he returned to his rest. Do not tell me
this is not exactly
how it happened. Be still while
I hold
the receiver. Bearing gifts.
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