I dreamed a
dream that took me home to Brooklyn and the
home I loved on Linden Street
A woman, my
aunt, old and white haired now, turned the knob and opened it, and I saw a golden
light stream into the room and fill it. I
told her I was to meet my Mother here. She
said she'd come at four this afternoon. All
of them, my mother's sisters, were sitting on kitchen chairs shaking their
heads and wiping their eyes, saying to each other . . . "She's not coming, poor
thing, she never should have said that."
My heart began
to sink, another lie, just keep pretending. Then from the corner of my eye, I
saw another room, dimly lit and a bed with a worn suitcase on it, opened and
strewn with clothes. There she stood, my
Mother, still in her coat and frailer than I remembered. My Mother, tear stained and seemingly afraid
to come to me. Oh, I was so happy and
relieved!
"Mommy!"
I cried, and ran to her like a little girl again, wrapping my arms around her
saying how much I loved her and missed her for so long. She held me too and I could feel her hair
against my cheek. The whole room began
to fill with that golden light.
She kissed my
face all over, just the way she always did when I was small, and she smiled
that smile I've waited to see again . . . for all my life. My gift, my answered prayer . . . She was
waiting for me there, and all I had to do was knock.
Joanne
Cucinello 2014
