Vervena Street

Sunrise. Time for dressing
and walking around the block
to the bus stop.
I’m seven, and all I want to do
is go back to sleep.

It’s grandma’s job to wake me
and make sure I get there on time.
While mother works, she’s in charge.

Somehow we start talking about dreams.
Mine are like a crazy adventure
with elements that might be
more common in a nightmare.
Hers are about Vervena Street,
where she grew up.

I always pictured her dreams
in black and white,
but I realize now how silly that was.
I am certain that they
were vivid to her.

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