In my dream I am choosing between four plates of different stews. Each is partially eaten. This has happened every day.

In my dream I’m combing the crowded shelves and bins of the Chinese grocery for dinner ingredients: bundles of greens, two jars of sauces, a cellophane bag of dried mushrooms and lilies. I know to avoid the noodles.

In my dream the dull light picks out the struts of the metal table. No one else is there.

In my dream there is a low pitched assault of voices.

In my dream two younger people dismiss me for not being more vocal when people misgender me.

In my dream there are glints of green across the walls.

In my dream the row of outdoor handball courts stirs in me the possibility that I could play again.

In my dream we are in a rowboat in the ocean and she laughs as she tossed pieces of food further and further away so that her dog has to swim harder and harder to retrieve them. I am shaking and crying and begging her to stop.

In my dream the race is on to  get back upstairs before closing time. Already half of the lights are off.

In my dream we are waiting for the council to vote.

In my dream it’s night in the civic center Burger King where we learn about a new service : a one on one session where an employee sprays you with coconut foam from a hose. We are laughing at the tackiness and faux sensuality of this and I ask “How did they miss calling this The King’s Chamber?”

In my dream much time is spent debating my particular rules for “kick the can”.

In my dream the tub of butter is shrinking and melting in my hands as I move back and forth through the college’s sleepover film screening, staining what I’m wearing and the paper on the seats.

In my dream the front wall of the empty apartment is patched with plywood and I feel myself pulled towards and through the gap. I lean back and talk to S about how long I’ve rehearsed living there. Just moments before I’d admired the massive sculpture up the block.