Dreaming of the Dead

by Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb

We are both dreaming of the dead
lately, you talking to a president,
I consulting a colleague; both
would have been good advisers

if they hadn’t appeared as ghosts
of interest in breakfast conversation.
The oatmeal thickens, and the plot
becomes mushy, as does most

of the substance of dreams
turned sunny-side-up into narratives.
But how have we yoked ourselves
to the recurring presence of past

people haunting our thoughts?
I ask you what this might mean,
as you serve a plate filled
with toast to William Shakespeare.