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July 26, 2006

I am dreaming climbing slowly up the stairs in the house where I grew up. I stand on the landing. All its doors are closed. I open my bedroom door. The glow of the gasfire, and my hearthrug like a shaggy dog’s coat. On hands and knees I go and bury my face in its tickly softness. In the bed a human form – the top of a child’s head, her sleep-swept hair just visible on the pillow. I know that it is me. And that I mustn’t wake her. I creep, stealthy as a parent on Christmas night, to the door.

by Polly Blackley

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  1. July 26, 2006 at 6:29 pm

    A fantasy, though sadly never a real dream of mine. To see myself so small and helpless, and to offer hope and comfort. Thank you, this is beautiful.

  2. July 26, 2006 at 8:13 pm

    Oh, cool dream! The sensual details – the burrowing in the soft, shaggy-dog rug – things a child would sense, while at the same time experiencing the parent’s view of the sleeping child with sleep-swept hair. Wonderful.

  3. July 28, 2006 at 11:32 am

    This is one of those dreams that just cries out for interpretation, isn’t it? But I like the way you have left all that up to the reader.

  4. July 29, 2006 at 4:55 pm

    Fascinating – you lead me toward musing on the idea that we are our own parents, in a way. It’s a very simple retelling of the dream, but there’s a lot in here.

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