Friday, July 17, 2009

Dream 717

In the dream, Eva was floating in the water and saying, Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby. Lullaby? I said, because I was so surprised she was speaking. Lullaby! And so I sang about bottles of wine and shining diamonds and cradles rocking. For months, I've been trying to get K. to have a baby too (They smell like apples! I say. And they make you see your world like you're standing on your head!), but I think she wants to write instead. Sometimes, I think she's right: that you can't do both, or even if you can, you can't do both well. These days, I can't even remember all the words to a lullaby. Right now, Eva's napping fitfully in this too-warm room; later, I'll point out letters to her. A for apple; B for blue. Mama loves letters, I tell her, because letters make words. And mama loves words, I say, almost more than anything. But it's always Eva I return to: my love for her. I know there will come a time when we don't consume each other so completely, but, at this moment, I can't imagine it. And this is a C, I say, and D is for dream, and E is for you, little bird. As if all the letters aren't for her; as if, these days, I'd even be able to recognize the shape of my own name if I didn't have her near, couldn't still smell her on me, couldn't turn my head and find her resting, finally, more peacefully; the fan (F is for fan!) doing its work on this thick, hot day.


kate said...

you are such an L... (love).

Zoe Ryder White said...

yes, yes, yes! this is so sweet and so true.