- Vol. 04
- Chapter 07
Vivid turquoise, the dream chair waits against a wall of graffiti. No one sits there, but behind it, a time traveler, clings to the chair back, her face blurred by an unknown gravity.
Centered between the sturdy green chair legs, her own shins descend, and her feet are anchored in a blue and turquoise tide that ebbs and flows across the crazy wavy floorboards.
Held captive, she has painted her toenails— a gesture meant to ground the memory of who she is as her face keeps shifting, the speed of her travel recasting it like a sand sculpture destined to dissolve.
I’ve never seen the chair in waking life, but know its house, one I also visit in my dreams— one whose stone facade is graced with red azalea, and whose spacious extra bedroom beckons from the basement where the mural blazes.
I know this room is in that house because the mural has migrated into this dream, squeezed itself into a strip where the wall meets the ceiling— a gaudy rendition of The Last Supper, neon colors pulsing like a beacon above a painted ankh
And now I recognize the traveler, remember when she was afraid to let go—afraid to let time sweep her toward the quantum chair that wants her, its curved arms extended in welcome, its padded seat the helm of an immutable ark.