after the miscarriage I dreamed
I was leaning against a yellow doorway
peering through the half-open Dutch doors
alphabet squares and blankets were draped
in a pseudo-cubist’s take on dali
I had an idea which one was mine—
something about the nap-matted hair
half-hiding her wild green eyes
how she appeared lost
in the random patterns on the rug
still I waited for the babysitter
to lift her from the floor
and bring her to me
she screeched
and arched her back
just wanting to be put down
then we saw ourselves in the
hall mirror and relaxed—
after that
she was okay
as long as I held her
facing away
unsure of who was holding her—
I could be anyone
she could be anyone
