Singed by the Fire of a Thousand Dreams
Last night I dreamed I was k.d. lang. The release of my new album coincided with an intergalactic battle to save the universe. I swung my laser sword and flew through the stars. I slid down the Milky Way and fought off the aliens. I saved the multiverse and my album went straight to number one.
Last night I dreamed our school bus broke down in Alaska and there was no food left to eat.
Last night I dreamed the black robes arrived and though we’d prayed for them I did not believe.
Last night I dreamed of the monolith.
Last night I dreamed of the white buffalo.
Last night I dreamed I was naked and you didn’t like it.
Last night I dreamed I taught Gary Oldman how to make gluten-free pancakes.
Last night I dreamed of the Anasazi, of Roswell, of the sounds that came from my AM radio as I huddled under my blanket when I was nine. A plush dog from Radio Shack. A Christmas present from my father. I turned the dial on its belly long after the batteries died.
Last night I dreamed we ran out of tin foil.
Last night I dreamed we dug a well and the water we found glowed in the dark.
Last night I dreamed we put up solar panels and told The Man to go fuck himself.
Last night I dreamed we went on one of our morning walks where we point to where the rabbits just were and ask each other, “Did you see it? Did you see?” This time we saw a rabbit the size of a Great Dane. We were happy and said, “Oh, we can see that one!”
Last night I dreamed our traps were full of beaver, of bobcat, of marten, of mink, and I cried while I thanked them for my life.
Last night I dreamed a bomb went off when I put my key into the ignition.
Last night I dreamed I flew off a cliff and my wings didn’t work.
Last night I dreamed of Armenians driving pearlescent Cadillacs.
Last night I dreamed I went to Boise for a business conference where they served fancy meals laid out on buffet tables. Everyone waited in line. I ran into the room and threw the food onto the floor because the chickens were hungry.
Last night I dreamed my goat had babies.
Last night I dreamed I couldn’t have my own.
Last night I dreamed I watched The Enigma eat light bulbs.
Last night I dreamed I could never ever feel full.
Last night I dreamed of when we dug up the front yard and found fragments of a kitchen sink, a bathrobe, a Fiestaware plate, a school paper with a red “A,” and many burnt pieces of wood.
Last night I dreamed the sun went out.
Last night I dreamed my mother bought me an orange Push-up from the ice cream truck.
Last night I dreamed the Earth was demolished by an alien race of raptors and we were eaten, one by one.
Last night I dreamed I had a zipper in my sternum. You pulled on it and my heart fell out.
Last night I dreamed we drove into the forest with two feathers, two backpacks, and two hatchets. Our tires burst and we laughed and drank whiskey under the starlight.
This morning I awoke with the bottle empty in my hand.
Becca Borawski Jenkins holds an MFA in Cinema-Television Production from USC and has short stories appearing or forthcoming in Menacing Hedge, concis, The Forge, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Jersey Devil Press, and Corium. She and her husband live half the year off-grid in the Idaho Panhandle in a cabin they built by hand. The other half of the year they roam the country in their RV.
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