Monday, December 13, 2010

cricket in a swim park

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Last night I dreamed I'd given birth. I held a tiny, sexless baby in my arms in a long white room, where others held their newborn babies. There was a bed beside me with white sheets and pillowcases, the floor was white, the walls white. The baby, a tiny soundless water bottle doll with limbs barely moving as I held it, it began to shrink, until it lay motionless in the palm of my hand. I decided this would make my baby easier for transport. I cupped the baby and exited the building into a water park. Walking past docks, I was weary about slipping on splashed water or being pushed by playing children, the baby was getting smaller, unsteady in my palm. I found a sidewalk path, facing a door which marked my final destination, the baby shrank once more and leaped from my hand onto the ground. I knelt and patted the ground for my baby. it was dark outside, but not quite night. I found my baby on the ground, but my baby was now a cricket. I picked it up and held it in my hand. It leaped off. After a few moments, grabbing at the ground, I realized a cricket couldn't be caught. It belonged in nature. I stood and mourned my loss.

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