Between coughing and squirming to get comfortable in what should be a comfortable bed – my feather bed below me and a down comforter on top of me – I dream.I dream about trying to take a final exam in a class I never attended with a pen that won’t write in a crowded classroom where I can’t find a seat.
Between coughing and squirming to get comfortable in what should be a comfortable bed – my feather bed below me and a down comforter on top of me – I dream. I dream about heavy rain. Probably prompted by the sound of acorns hitting the skylight above my bed. I dream about babies. Not mine. And I awake to find learn I am a great aunt. “Reva had a baby” John calls from the other room. “She named it Raven. Looks like she has a Mohawk.” I sigh. The line goes on. Mama and Daddy had three children. My sister and I had none. My brother had two. One is gay and happy. Reva is the only one scattering seed. All our genes now depending on a little girl with a Mohawk named Raven.
I wonder if Raven dreams or if she is content giving me dreams.
1 comment:
Brenda, your words are beautiful, your images tantalizing and warm.You've got to get your book published and let the world see that your another John Steinbeck.BB
Help me put together a blog when you get to the Winterfest. Love ya.
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