The Dream About My Grandmother / Joshua Alan Sturgill
My grandmother is dressed
in the blue of her first marriage
and she lays out the cards like a fortune-teller
until the kitchen table is covered with faces, the cards
are family photographs
each marked with a name and a white Cross
My grandmother’s smile
soft, care-worn and kind, is the smile
of a love sifted through suffering
— I haven’t seen it for so long, my vision blurs
as tears swim over my eyes
and the rows of cards become confused
and my grandmother’s dress disappears into the tablecloth
and her smile is framed
in dark wood muted with dust — one
of two portraits hanging on the wall:
my grandmother and great-grandmother
with the same face, in the same dream,
side by side
I sit at the table
watching the cards’ edges curl and stir
in the humid draft from an open window
a summer-draft, perfumed
with coffee and cigarettes and breakfast sausage
at 3:49 some night or afternoon
long ago when the clock runs down
and the door locks for a last time
and the refrigerator hums peacefully alone
and the effect of the wind changing minutely
my grandmother’s thoughtful arrangement of the photographs
leaves the impression of a hidden message,
a wish, a war-time telegram:
turn around they are saying
the nine of cups
and the old house
and a young man holding a child
and see what is behind you, yet to be
All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2025 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.
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