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By Terri Niccum

Some days I believe
I will dream them all back.
Mother first, because she
Is the one I call out for

Then Dad, then brother Rick
(And Dad will understand
The ordering
And Rick won’t)
But they will be returned to me
Just the same

Then the funniest Aunt,
Then the kindest,
Then the quirkiest,
And then the most difficult.
Uncles come, too, following the aunts,
And Grandmas and Granddaddy
Doing his W.C. Fields imitation
T’aint a fit night out
For man nor beast!

And quiet Grandpa
Who watched me do
The dead man’s drop
From atop the swing set
And said, That’s good,
But be careful
.

All come to be seated
Around me at some
Feast-strewn table
Because in this dream
I have learned to cook.
And why not?
I have learned
To dream back the dead.

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