Last night I had a dream that my son was thirteen years old and he had chubby dimpled wrists like a baby and we were staying in a cottage near the ocean and we sat in the grassy spaces just beyond the sand and we watched the boats and then we danced in the living room. This was a good dream and not an anxiety dream which happens only rarely.
Susan Slaviero lives on the cusp of a hellmouth, where she vanquishes evil with poetry and cupcakes. She hopes to someday land a job as either a dog whisperer or a telephone psychic. In the meantime, she writes. She has a fondness for esoterica.