Synecdoche
Every night, I pray for clarity, for something. I dream the weirdest dreams of my life, struggle to get up, force myself to forget. Over morning coffee, I gossip with God. Was the dream real? Did a one-year old really drive a car for her mother? Did the mother really look at me like that? Was I, can I, really be that stupidly kind? The mother’s let out of jail and I think hm, that really did nothing . I try the Coke- Dr. Pepper combination in real life and it really is bad. The common theme is stress: I can’t remember the phone number, can’t find the receipt, the time changes at its own will. God, I think, God I ask: is Your coffee sweet enough? (With a selected line from Jubi Arriola-Headley’s Still, Life )