Still adrift

April 24, 2012

Some mornings, the tentacles of whatever story held me under the surface of sleep keeps its stranglehold on my brain even after I’ve emerged from bed. The dream stays salty in my mouth, changing the taste of toast, eggs, coffee. Even while walking to the bus, it is as if I am treading water, my legs at risk of tangling in seaweed and kelp. It might be noon, those days, before I am once again grounded, before I finally have both feet on this world’s shore.

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