When I Dream of Home.
In my dream ...I have no home.
My home is less even than a house of cards
Collapsing .
There is no road that leads
No gate ..no path
No door ..no hall
Or lights to burn.
No carpets on the floor.
No voices.
In this dream
I am without a family
I’m without trees and garden.
....and then...dream memory
Of cold between the walls
...chill walls and stairs
...widows locked in by heavy lace
...the furniture all draped
And drab torn velvet folds....
There is a fading in and out..a...
Fading in and out .
... into a deep corner
Of a endless room ...a Vuillard dim and dark..but
I remember it..it’s stitched into my soul
In mauves and greens with black
And sorrowful ,
My mother in a dress .. she walks away...
I call her back.... I call .... I call come back
But she’s untouchable and folded
She’s as cold as marble in a room
Near a piano.
She’s lying in a box.....without speech
I cannot reach her.
In pain ... a pain I cannot end ... I end my dream.
Kristine Byrne. Raheen 2013