The House On Van Bergh Ave

There's a memory I have
from when I was small -
my mother's face in the sky,
behind and around her
lightning flashed from black cloud to
black cloud. I laid on the floor of our porch,
in the house on Van Bergh Avenue.

What I recall of that house,
what I knew of that family
is all a blur,
but this rings clear.
This is as true
as the most vital of my organs.
Her face, her heavenly face shining
down over me.

That is the last of my memories
of that time -
lived in dreamscapes.