Monday, March 22, 2021

A MORNING DREAM A Morning Dream By Jack Blanchard





It was dark, except for a soft glow from somewhere.
It reminded me of a stage play performed in the dark
except for one soft spotlight above.
No scenery or props needed.

I could see dimly that we were out in the country,
from the patches of grass and dirt for about twenty feet around,
and the outline of the ancient country store through our windshield.
The large square of blackness represented a weathered wood building.
A door with an opaque window front lit our scene.

My two sisters Ginny and Val were in the back seat of the black car,
I was in the passenger seat, and our mother was behind the wheel.
They were almost silhouettes, but I could see their features.

Our little family group seemed happy, in spite of the gloom.
We were just sitting there, cheerfully talking about what we were going to do,
as if it were a vacation.

I thought I saw a back shadow dart out of the store entrance
with a garbage bag.

I couldn't understand a word of what my family was saying,
but I got the meanings.
I said, "i'm really beat! I have to go in there and get something to eat or I'll pass out. You guys go ahead, have fun, and come back and pick me up."
Then a spotlight somewhere dimmed and went to black.
End of the play.

(NOTE: My sister Val and I are alive at this writing.
Our sister Ginny and our mother are not.)

Jack Blanchard.

Written March 19th, 2021.