In my dream, I say I married a dead man. A ghost of a human. So many dead men in this world. Acceptable. Slaves.

In my dream, I say I married a dead man.

Spirit, are you telling me that there is no reviving this person? That is the question I will ask myself tonight before going to sleep.

A week of writing. I am dying for community. I don’t want to die, too. If he is already a dead man then he can no longer take my energy. I will not try to revive him. He has to transform himself.

Grandpa’s garden — give me some answers.

She fell asleep in his garden. She was running alongside the fence. The air was misty. On the other side of the fence, it was dry. She saw two horses running. No longer was there a street, just open ground, clay – raw umber. The horses were the same color as the earth, blond with reddish brown manes. She watched the dust curl around them. Then, an owl appeared. It turned its head around to look at her. She watched its eyes, which grew to large circles that became spirals of color. She found herself on a cliff overlooking the Badlands. The owl was at the edge of the cliff, then flew to a tree, dropping three feathers to the ground. The moon was full, clouds passing over.

She told her friend about the dream. Her friend said, “The owl is telling you to turn your head around. You’ve got to look at things in a new way. You have got to do whatever it takes to change your perspective or you’re going to stay stuck . . . left sitting on the fence obscured by mist while the horses run free and leave you behind.”

© November 2006

New York City