I dreamt my daughter’s death two nights
February 16, 2007
The first night a car. The second the bottom of a hotel pool.
Each time I have her.
Crushing her with a desperate grip. She’s hurt but safe until I let go, falling sideways off the curb, or into the water and then I have no voice, no legs.
I listen against the cold, groaning house for her breath.
What help is faith? What worth is prayer?
