Thoughts first: I’ve talked to my mom about this reoccurring dream that I have, which is what this poem is about. We determined that it’s about Tator (a nickname for Tate). He’s a friend from my childhood who committed suicide in his teens (fourteen I think). That was a very long time ago, as I couldn’t have been older than maybe 7 or 8 at the time.
You are but a dream of a boy I cannot name.
A memory forgotten in tombs of children’s games.
A laughter, a smile, a giggle, and a face.
A name that I can no longer place.
Lingering feelings of loss and love.
I dream of something forgotten, that I was a part of.
A ghost of a memory that I can only dream.
I see laughter, hugs, pillow fights, and ice cream.
I wonder of the trees in the back of the picture.
I wonder of the many things I have before treasured.
The boy in my dreams comes often, though far in between.
A sudden strong recognition of a boy I know I have seen.
I feel in my heart that there was once a time and a place.
Who is the boy, whose name I can no longer place?