Saturday, July 25, 2009



I dream there is a carnival in my backyard with pony rides. I try to send them away but they say they are shareholders and have come to pick apples in the orchard. They ask where the restroom is and where the snack bar might be, and sure enough it is right down the corridor. I shake my head in confusion. They tour my home like it is a museum, admiring the grand staircase and the marble bathrooms. But there is the lake view they haven’t found out about yet, far back beyond a circle of concrete. My mom agrees, it is too much for the dogs and tries to cordon off the back yard. Still they come.

My dreams. No spiders spinning webs, just fragments in which I know no logic is required. I hide under blankets from soldiers with many other bodies crammed in together like pieces of a puzzle. We lie still when we hear them rummaging, then when quiet comes, we rearrange ourselves to fit still more bodies in. Then there is a train ride and driving and sewing, though the seams are coming apart. I am sewing jeans, endless pairs of jeans; stitches wiz by like lane markers. I know I can wake up and that this is all wrong, but I don’t, I am too tired even to protest. So I go along with the rapidly changing scenarios, cycle through emotions and wonder what lies in wait in the next crevice of my sleeping brain.

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