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I Dreamt About You Last Night I dreamt about you last night. I called you on the phone even though you passed away over four weeks ago now. I don’t know why I called, I don’t know what I was hoping for, but when you answered your phone I said, “Dave?” You said, “Yes.” And I asked, “How are you?” You said, “Fine.” And I asked, “You’re not dead?” You said, “No.” “But I just told someone you passed away a month ago.” “Oh,” you said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” And you sounded so - so relaxed. So peaceful. They say that dreams are your chance to think over the things unresolved from your day. And I keep dreaming about you. Don’t I think about you enough? You’re the one that left me. Why are you coming back, at night, when I let my defenses down, slipping in through my window and working your way into my dreams? I dreamt about you last night. We were sitting together, about to go out for the evening. You were wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. We were running late, and you were angry. “I wanted to wear this, but I wanted to put more black on - I wanted to wear my black vest and my black jacket.” You know, I thought it was always funny, how much you cared about the clothes you wore. So I said, “But Dave, you look fantastic in your jeans and t-shirt.” And you smiled at me and kissed me. I wish I could have told you more in life how good you looked. I’m sorry, Dave. I’m so sorry. I wish in life I could have told you the things you wanted to hear. I saw you today. You were in a black car and you were wearing dark sunglasses. He could have been you, if I closed my eyes and squinted just slightly. You pulled up in the lane next to me as I was driving to my sister’s house. You were about to turn right and I watched you look at the oncoming traffic, waiting for your chance to leave me again. Let me think that it was you, driving, living. Let me think that you’re just ignoring me. Then I can be angry with you. I dreamt about you last night. I was on a cruise ship, and you were working as a waiter. You wore one of those silly short jackets for your uniform. It was a sea blue. And every time I thought I saw you you would turn away to do your job. All I ever caught were fleeting glimpses of you, walking away. All I keep thinking is that my days are finally free of you but they’re not. I keep thinking of you. And it isn’t enough. I still can’t escape you at night. U.S. Government Copyright Chicago Poet Janet Kuypers on all art and all writings on this site completed before 6/6/04. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission.