Sweet dreams

She is not content
to go out with a bang –
though not demure in life,
she feels perhaps it is unseemly
to make a scene –
to leave, without taking her time.

She is slowly fading.
Sinking from view
beneath the waves.
We watch her pull away
the carriage picks up speed
and dust obscures its receding sight.

So tiny now, shrinking away
curling into herself
a re-furling fern
sleeping now, who knows
what dreams behind her
delicate eyelids,
within that troubled mind.

Perhaps none.
Perhaps she’s gone.
I dreamt of her pullin on
her coat, her gloves, her hat
– picking up her bag
and leaving the party –
assured that I was there
laughing with my mother.

Quietly going –
not wanting to interrupt
the fun,
with grand goodbyes.

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