Grace

I had a scary dream yesterday. I was in a familiar place, large stone houses and storefronts ending in a cul-de-sac. Trees and greenery, blue sky. I was going about my business when you came to get me. And you were there, and you too. Familiar faces all. You were convinced I had to die.

You took me into the basement of one of the houses and led me to an old iron bed with a spring box, no mattress. A half-window let light in. Was I contained or did inevitability hold me there?

I had this sense that you had killed me before. I was frustrated that we’d come to this again. That I couldn’t communicate why you were mistaken, why this was wrong. I was sad to be leaving things undone.

As you got the fire ready, a small girl with a bag full of feathers came and joined me. I told her she couldn’t be here or she would die too. “I know,” she said, snuggling in, and I realized she’d been there all those other times as well.

And I woke up crying…

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One thought on “Grace

  1. You know you can handle the heat but you also know the little girl can’t but it’s impossible to separate the two… they’re inseparable because they’re both you… the adult part knows what’s wrong and has to face up to the fiery end but the little girl can’t bear to let go because she, too, knows it’s right. Perhaps I can take a couple of shifts for you… let me work on it.

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