The Carriage
Baby in a vat of boiling soup – thick, tomato
My face is gray and wrinkled like an elephant
Tonight is the night of a very nice party full of interesting people
and I am a face there too
A mirror is slanted on the wall, near the ceiling
In it is my gray face – fat sagging off my cheekbones, under my eyes
Imperfection blooming from each hang nail
I am imparting wisdom on an individual – nubile, interesting
I am a strong, independent woman
I am holding a drink
I am dressed appropriately
But in this dream an elephant stares at me from the mirror
He is holding a drink
He is sleepy and drunk
He is dressed appropriately
But behind him there is a baby
Screaming as the window closes – years after it has died
The elephant remembers the baby as clean
He is putting his baby in a vat of tomato soup
This is the baby's bath but it is too hot for her little-naked-backside
and too big
She, the baby, is afraid
The baby is reaching for the elephant with hands – slender, like
mine
Down into the soup – fingers last
And then the elephant realizes, too late, that his soup has been
sitting on the stove burner for eternity
He reaches down into the vat to pull the baby out but, like a tomato, the skin has already come off her body
He grabs at both skin and body – his hands, steeped
Deeper into the eternal vat they fall
With a finger he catches the baby's face on his hangnail for a
moment and he feels its slippery humanity whorl away
I am dressed appropriately – in white
A strong body has swooped me up and cradles me
There are people screaming as the door closes behind us
Because I, too, have fallen in
My dress is red



