In the house below I know to watch my footing on that half step that runs the width of the room. I sat and watched a movie with O when suddenly the globe fixture over us exploded, imploded and I had shards of glass all in the side of my face, neck, shoulder. O was aghast. He pulled me out of the sofa and up to the light of the screen door then told me to stay put.
I stayed. J came to the door, knocking as she entered and was shocked at the blood and asked where's O? He reentered the room presently having dug out BBQ prong and proceeded to pluck glass from me. Look J, he said, got one and held up a long shard. She did a facepalm and wanted to know why he thought he could fix this.
They began to bicker. I excused myself to a bathroom that in that dream was where the kitchen closet was. I shook the glass from the front of my shirt and from the front and back as I shook, not only broken glass but arm's width pottery. some fell intact, some robin's egg blue broke as it fell, interspersed with premortared brick that fell among the pots, some falling loose, some building little part walls at my feet.
Reflections on publicity
1 week ago