I
dreamt you were eating my food. Detail: it was the lasagna
that
I took for lunch today and I extrapolate that I must have been hungry but no
the
dream was just that. You were eating it. So much for realism.
I
tried to recapture sleep. I pointed at the dream, for instance
the
flap of its wings or its voice. Muddy dead ends, a slurred moment aside—why
was
the door open? Again. Why.
I
squeezed myself in. I was driving around, looking for evidence. I was trying
to
give someone an award. Already the house
feels
empty without you. I wait for you to enter. Someone else
was
also alone.
I
must have found nothing; not that it mattered. Hush.
The
play is about to begin.
