A Bedtime Story For Mr. Lamb
What story would you like to hear, Mr. Lamb?
Are you a real lamb?
Would you like to hear of Webbers?
Here is the Story of Alice:
The Queen wants to have a baby,
That's why she's kissing her hand.
The Mad Habit is pouring specklish tea.
Finally, the Mad Habit and the Queen go to sleep,
But she's not looking at him.
He's just pouring the milk.
Goodnight, Mr. Lamb,
Have a nice dream.
Sleep like a lamb.
Don't rough scream
I would like to be asked, What story would you like to hear, Ms. Danna?
I would ask for a different story than what I have been telling myself.
I cannot shake my dream from early Sunday morning. It woke me at 2:27 in the morning.
Something about moth tea so valuable I am told that it costs five thousand American dollars. A flame-haired woman and a formally-dressed man stood nearby as I looked into the cauldron in which the tea was steeping and saw moths swimming.
Something about a rabbit hole of a homesteader's house with cook kitchen in front of it. Once inside, the house expanded to fit the dream. The house sat on what was once a sacred site, between two contemporary homes.
Something about a lioness with long fur ankle cuffs which I mistook for a cougar, yelling, "Do you see the cougar?" until it saw me and climbed after me in pursuit until it lost interest.
And then the dream disappeared when I looked at the clock and saw the time and realized over one-hundred years ago, a ship that could not sink had slipped below the glassy waters and more than a thousand waited in the cold water for death to find them.