dreams of Mama

Last night, she looked the way she did before she died, but strong and healthy. Short gray hair, chubby, bustling about the house. She said she was going to teach a poetry class in my room. And there were other ladies in my room who I didn't know or can't remember now that I'm awake. Mama curled up on my couch in her rust-red house dress and proceeded to gush about what she was reading. (It was poetry but it looked like a hardback children's book.)

I remember Abbot and I were leaving for a weekend trip. We were at the dock, the station, the bus stop…but I had to go home because I forgot something. And on my way home, or when I got there, I remembered that Mama was there but Mama was dead. And I saw her puttering about in the kitchen, opening refrigerator doors, preparing a snack? I asked her how long she could stay. She said she didn't know. And we hugged.

The last thing I remember clearly is that I had to tell Abbot I couldn't go because my Mama was visiting and I didn't know how long we could keep her.

***
The first dream I ever had of Mama, she looked the way she did in the 80s. Donya shift dress (black and white?) from the modista, a kerchief tied around her bun.

She was in the old master bathroom (or in a room made of its details). She was packing her things in big boxes to give away. I asked her if she was mad at me.

(She said no. But by the tampo on her face and the huff and miff in her voice, I don't think she meant it. Pero ganun naman siya.)