Last night I talked out loud while dreaming. I have no record of the sentences spoken, just my husband asking me what I was dreaming, did I know I was speaking?
I am speaking. I am speaking. Can you hear me?
I see the backs of people I used to love who love me no more. Can they hear me speaking of what used to be but is no more?
Why do we watch the door slammed shut when before us are those clouds that litter the sky with beauty?
Before us is car dancing and making our kids yell “Stop!” when we sing out of tune, them begging us to not keep talking about how much we love them. I will never, ever tire of pointing out your beauty to you.
My past sorts itself out in dreams and it’s so hard to pull myself out of bed. But I do. I do. I do because upstairs are two girls who’d rather sleep in. They’re waiting for my good mood which I’m making out of my bad mood. They are here. They are here. They are beautiful and they are waiting for me to tell them the truth.
The truth is there are red leaves on some of the trees outside and if I leave my bed, my desk, my table and walk outside I will see them. The color-saturated leaves will stand there, awaiting my eyes and my mouth and the way I point out their redness to my girls. Look at the clouds, I will say, aren’t they beautiful? They are.