I wake up in a stock car race with a man I didn’t know. I catch a glimpse of my Mother; she sits in a sailor’s lap as he whispers in her ear. She laughs as the car slams into a guard rail.
I fly from the car and land in a locked seclusion room.
There is a bed in one corner and a corpse in another.
I don’t want to look at the corpse but I know that I must.
I turn it over to see my Mother’s battered face. She splits and becomes two. She splits and becomes four. She splits and becomes eight and soon the room fills with her corpse and the stench of death.
I wake up in a sweat…
It is hot today in San Francisco.
The Sun is so bright I can feel its terrible light through the walls.
I see that I’m filthy with blood and rancid flesh.
I shower and return to bed, I want to rest, but my heart races,
my blood pounds; life feels unbearable.
So much pain, so much grief, so much loss.
Sara surfaces and puts me to sleep
(c) Rob Goldstein 2015 All Rights Reserved