Diane Webster: Two Poems

Does Dad Dream?

Mom comes to him at night
like the picture hung on his wall.
Her image massages his brain,
tosses ice cubes down his shirt,
spills coffee in his lap,
flips mashed potatoes on his glasses,
flies a paper airplane into his cheek,
spits a watermelon seed at his ear.
He wakes up anonymous
and looks at the picture on his wall.

 

I Remember

I still remember Dad’s old sayings:
“Drinking coffee
will put hair on your chest.”
“If you can keep your tongue out of the lost
tooth’s hole, it’ll grow back gold.”
“Swallow a watermelon seed,
and you’ll end up pregnant.”
“If you scratch your arm,
spit on it.  It’ll heal faster.”
I still remember, Dad,
even if you can’t.

 

Diane Webster grew up in Eastern Oregon before she moved to Colorado. She enjoys drives in the mountains to view all the wildlife and scenery and takes amateur photographs.  Her work has appeared in The Evansville Review, Philadelphia Poets, Better Than Starbucks, and other literary magazines.

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