Liquid Dreams

Even from the smallest fissure, an ocean can grow. And so it was in my dreams last night, the feeling of standing waist deep in water as its level began to rise and the cracks in the plaster seemed to expand beyond the measure of my hand and a tide that refused to be held back.

But I stood there in my dream with hands pressed hard against the wall, willing the flow to stop as pieces of my life went floating by. Dusty picture frames, thousands of pages in sinking books, and two black cats sitting high on a shelf in their traveling baskets, unaware of the danger below.

And I remember thinking to myself that I had to leave them in order to save myself. And I began wading my way through the gallons of water, half standing, half swimming, brushing the water from my eyes and willing my hair from my face.

But when I reached the door I couldn't go through it. Couldn't leave the kittens there alone to defend themselves. And so I turned around, swimming back through deep black waters and found the girls still sitting high on their shelf and with one hand, reached up into the muggy stillness of the air and brought them down to me.

Floating with one hand wrapped protectively around them and the other paddling as fast as one hand could, we swam our way into the emptiness of the ocean and watched as our house gave one last groan and sank beneath the discordant waves.