Last night I dreamt
my grandma was substitute teaching
in the classroom next to mine.
My grandma,
who died in 2009,
is sitting behind the teacher’s desk.
She smiles as I walk in and announce,
“Hey everyone! This is my grandma!”
My grandma,
who first started teaching
in a one-room country school,
is wearing a pastel cardigan
that feels both soft and stiff
as I hug her thin shoulders.
Over the chatter and laughter of students,
I tell her,
“If anyone gives you any trouble,
send them to see me.”
She replies only
with a knowing look
from behind the large lenses
of her plastic-framed bifocals.
A look
that tells me
she can handle herself.
© 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.
This poem is about a real dream I had featuring my grandma, who I miss very much. She had a subtle strength that I appreciate and admire more the older I get.