Miasma Poem by Mary Champion

(A True story)
It was the sort of dream that lingered;
Setting the mood for the day;
Hovering at the edge of awareness-
A sinister miasma
Infusing the atmosphere with gloom,
Yet totally out of focus.
The presence of the sadness
And the absence of the reason
Confused her.
It clouded her morning
As she went about her work.
Something momentous had happened -
Something tragic
Yet she could recall nothing of its nature.

Then, in a thoughtless moment
Over lunch
She remembered:
Last night she had dreamed that
Her Mother had died.
Only she hadn't
And wouldn't
For another forty-five years.