DREAM 1
I dreamed last night that I was
racing through the woods with my mother, brothers, and sister. We were sitting
behind horses on a wooden cart like the ones that carried prisoners to the
guillotine in France. A man lay unconscious in the back in revolutionary dress,
bright reds and blues and a plumed hat. He bled from the chest.
As we rumbled through the forest,
running away, he turned paler and paler. We stopped beneath some white apple
trees and watched him die. We stared around, wondering where to bury the man we
had rescued in vain.
As we stared, windswept and
stunned, our mother began to have a miscarriage. The baby passed quickly and
quietly, and my youngest brother turned to me and said, "We must give up
our children as well." He took pincers, forced them down my throat, and
pulled out a tiny fetus the size of a finger. I began to bleed. It looked like
a gumdrop. He set it in a tuft of daffodils beneath an apple tree in full
blossom, and then I woke up, a piercing pain in my throat.
DREAM 2
Last night I dreamed that my
brothers were dragged into the ocean by a rogue tide. I raced down the surf,
screaming and panting, plunging my hand in to pull them out. I found a tin can
and a little girl with rosy gauze wings. As I stood knee deep in the waves, the
sea became a dark green rug. I knelt and ran my fingers up and down its rough
wool, searching for my brothers like lost pennies.
