last night, as i slept
A dream of myself in a big, old house - all wooden floors and frosting-plaster walls and leather furniture. The venerable smell of a little dust. A spiral staircase, finials worn to the bare wood by thousands of passing hands. There's gentle creaking as people move around upstairs. Tiny bubbles in the old window glass catch the sun and make sharp little pools on the opposite wall.
I'm playing 'The Great Destroyer' on vinyl in another room. Monkey sounds really good on vinyl.
I'm in the front room, leaning against the doorjamb, rocking heel-to-toe on my bare feet. I'm resting a hand on the warm, taut curve of my very pregnant belly, the nubby linen of my shirt tickling against the skin as I move. I'm waiting for someone. They're not late; I'm just looking forward to seeing them.
I watch my feet as I walk back to the kitchen, padding through a series of sunspots. There's a long scar on the high part of my left foot that I don't have.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. My hair is so much blonder; it's long, and I'm wearing it up. My hair has been short since kindergarten, so it makes no sense to me that I'm so familiar with the beats of my swinging ponytail against the top of my back.
I walk through the laundry room and push open the garden door. The air smells like food. It's so warm outside; over the chest-high wall, I can see mountains. It's green here...so green. I don't recognize the language that the people on the street outside are speaking. Birds are carrying on a nonstop conversation in the trees above me and on the roof.
I hold the underside of my heavy belly in both hands and hop along the stepping stones, dipping to scoop up an errant mango or two as I go.
I get to the french doors and fight with the old, worn handle until it finally turns. I think about baking cookies.
I hear the gravel crunch in the drive. I smile.