July 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Three / Online
Linda Wandt
Afternoon Dream

I’ve had twins
a girl & a boy
and they’re
small and gorgeous,
a few hours old,
in pink and blue footie pajamas,
but someone’s gotta
go for beer,
so I go out to the car
the sun has finished setting
and this horrific indescribably huge
dark monsterbeast
which is mostly claws, fangs and rage
is chasing me–
stomping, ground quaking,
so I can’t find the right key
to open to car door,
flipping metal panicked
as in heart attack through the ring.
Somewhere nearby
is a fire
and the air smells
like ash.

I get back with a case
and everyone’s happy,
I don’t recognize anyone
and now the kids look
a few years old,
and they’re talking excitedly
and calling me mommy
and I’m too embarrassed
to admit
I don’t know their names.

I noticed, confused,
they are both beautiful blondes
and have grey eyes.
They’re both on my lap,
I’m sitting in an unfamiliar kitchen
and I’m on the phone w/ my mother
telling her I have kids now.
She’s thrilled
and asks what I named them.