December 2003
Barefoot, I creep up the carpeted stairs in the dark
Drawn to the far attic corner.
I’m frightened, but am pulled forward.
Something draped in loose linen beckons,
Perfectly silent and still.
My trembling hand reaches out, my fingers grasp the cloth and pull,
Revealing a small, pinkish mass of many folds.
With tender curiosity, I study my brain.
Gently I wrap it in the cloth and cradle it in my arms.
I’m surprised how soft and smooth it feels,
Like a newborn, warm and supple.
Drowsy, I hold it close and lie down on the spare bed.
When I open my eyes again,
I’m beneath a great oak in a large meadow.
My eyes trace the paths of the crooked limbs,
Spreading out and away into a thousand bends and branches.
Sap feeds every twig and leaf.
A warm breeze brushes my cheek and each leaf responds.
Peace seeps into me from the tree roots.
I close my eyes once more and drift asleep.
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