April 27th - A Dream Poem by Patti Masterman

The dream came out of nowhere as dreams often do
I was in a long hallway, perhaps a school
I began to walk, not knowing where I was going or why
A lady sat at a child size desk, just beside an open door
She stopped me. 'They told me, ' she said
'That you wanted to know the day of your death.'
I was nonplussed; I began to argue, no, not me,
I would never want- but there was no stopping her.

She looked familiar but I didn't know why.
'They told me I could tell you, ' she continued.
Who were they and what were they to me?
'April 27th, ' she intoned, impersonally.
I began to cry. Clearly, I did not want to know!
'But my daughter's birthday is April, and my friend's, '
I wept; how could I disappoint my daughter and friend
In the month of their birth? How could I die then?
I walked on slowly in shock. She finished her declaration
By saying it would happen in the mid-fifties.

I didn't know if she meant my mid fifties or the the fifties
Of the new century- that would make me at least ninety-five!
If only I were more self-possessed in dreams and less fearful
When I woke up, I reflected on the forecast.
She was a good friend of my parents, with whom I had spent time
When I became a teenager and lonely for conversation
With someone who cared about the more esoteric things.
We often discussed Edgar Cayce and his prophecies.
How he invariably seemed to hit the mark head on.

She was like a parent, but interested in the same stuff as me-
A fact which did nothing to soothe my suspicions.
Now I mark April 27th on each calendar
As a sort of pseudo-holiday day each year.
Not that I believe in dream forecasts
It's just something to do.