Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Dream 429

Dreamed Eva was putting small things in her mouth: little plastic tags from clothing, pieces of torn up paper, tiny Guatemalan worry dolls, rose petals. She was laying on a bed made only of things that could choke her. Then I held her and whispered no, but from the other room she cried, and so we both woke, and I nursed her and tried again to explain that time had shifted, that we were back in Brooklyn and Mykonos was worlds away, that we'd feel better soon; night will be night and day will be day. I'm not sure she believed me.

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