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Every two or three years, usually after a long period of contentment and stability, I have the dream.
In the dream, I am in my childhood home in South Minneapolis, the mustard A-frame surrounded by fruit trees, garden, and consecutive waves of gang wars and immigration. It is always morning: I am always young. It is always the last dream of the night, after climbing down the dim, concrete stairs of skyscrapers, or wandering through foggy parklands of Minneapolis in twilight.
I run through the rooms of my home, intent on warning my parents of the doom that is hanging over our family. As I begin to wake up, I find them, smiling and benevolent in their bedroom, my mother with her morning coffee, my father unbroken by grief and years of disappointment.
As I open my mouth to speak, dizzy with relief that I'm there, I'm in time, I wake up.
( packing a suitcase to a place none of us have seen )
In the dream, I am in my childhood home in South Minneapolis, the mustard A-frame surrounded by fruit trees, garden, and consecutive waves of gang wars and immigration. It is always morning: I am always young. It is always the last dream of the night, after climbing down the dim, concrete stairs of skyscrapers, or wandering through foggy parklands of Minneapolis in twilight.
I run through the rooms of my home, intent on warning my parents of the doom that is hanging over our family. As I begin to wake up, I find them, smiling and benevolent in their bedroom, my mother with her morning coffee, my father unbroken by grief and years of disappointment.
As I open my mouth to speak, dizzy with relief that I'm there, I'm in time, I wake up.
( packing a suitcase to a place none of us have seen )
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