Last night I had that dream, again. I was pregnant. I had a huge belly. I woke up aching.
This is for the fetus that invaded my dream last night:
I don’t want you anymore. I kissed you goodbye on my 37th birthday. Remember? I placed you on a paper boat that had your name on it.
Captain Chavela, captain of her paper boat.
Please stop invading my dreams. It is time for you to invade the dream of a 26-year-old uterus. Mine is too old for you. Mine is for black birds that need a place to fly. Go rest your baby Buddha head on somebody else’s shoulder. Take your pacifier, your bib, your red little coat, and your diapers and go away. You’re better off being something other than my daughter. You’ re better off being a blue sky. A sweet orange. A yellow M&M. A handful of rice. Cold water in a cup. The last autumn leaf on a maple tree. I don’t want you. I don’t want your Mother’s Day card and your photograph on my wall.
I had enough of your cruel baby invasions. Please stop.
Guiño a Plympton. [Flickr]
8 hours ago