©2021 Michael Raven
Visits. Six or seven last night; like thieves in the night. Others, the nights before.
Friday, I heard floorboards creak as I slumbered, didn’t think much of it. Felt the bed compress with the weight of an adult, turned to say something.
No one there.
Saturday. Rinse. Repeat. Someone kissed me on the forehead as I woke. I swear I swear I swear I was not dreaming.
Last night, the barrage. These stayed in dream. Waking up from the visits, now fading into the mists of memory. On the hour, every hour starting at midnight. Thieves. They stole something, but left something in exchange. I may have ended up with the better end of the exchange, but it was still a theft.
- Saint Paul, West Seventh limestone storefronts. We shared coffee, smokes. Advice: left behind the counter. He laughed.
- Seattle, Belltown. Shopping. Something taken from racks and given, we ran and laughed as the cops were called. She told me not to worry; it was all a dream, she explained, but that I should cling tightly to what we snatched.
- Grandparents house. Grandma telling tall tales, except each was more true than real life.
- The crows, laughing outside. They spoke of other times and places. I listened, intent. I heard a secret, I am sure.
- More. But gone now. The clock read 1am, it read 2am, it read..
Memory, waking, slipstream and fading. Important things — I hope I put it into a treasure chest for later.