By Thomas O’Connell
I’m not sure why, it’s not like I knew him well. When I started dreaming, he was there – sitting across from me at some mall food-court. “What are you doing here,” I asked.
“I came to see you.”
“We’ll figure that out together.”
Then he pushed his chair back from the table and left. “Wait,” I called. It’s not like I was still drunk. Like I am the only person who’s ever run a light. Like the city shouldn’t have put in a cross-walk years ago. I woke unsettled. My lawyer says she won’t put me on the stand.
“i write so that i do not forget…” – the writer
4 thoughts on “I Dreamt Last Night of The Dead Child”
Wow! Beautifully sad. You created this special and nuanced space with your words. I felt privileged to read this piece. Thank you!
and i am honored that you would read, appreciate, & take the time to let me know – thank you. there are not many rewards in this writing life, a kind and encouraging word from a careful reader really makes a difference.
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thank you, Kelvin – i appreciate your reading and letting me know.