Mess, a Haibun by Alison Cable
Things we didn’t say
Like the person beside you
(not) in the picture
Last night I dreamed that I was about to enter the shower and there was a knee-deep backup of water. Kneeling, steam-soaked, I was unclogging the drain with a plunger and stuff started coming up. At first it was the usual bits, but then came a wadded-up ball of tissue paper, an old blue plastic bottle, a pile of shit, a dead, half-decomposed dog. This was Bea, and she had no hair on her tail and the fur coat was pulled away from her face to reveal tendon and bone. She moved a little, ever so slightly. You came into the room because I was calling and Bea (now alive) was by your side. Her tail wagging. I showed you what had come up and got shit on my fingers as I was trying to use dissolving toilet paper bits to pick the things off the shower floor and put them in a bin. “What am I going to do with this dog from the drain?” I asked. But Bea was gone. And you.
Like the person beside you
(not) in the picture
Last night I dreamed that I was about to enter the shower and there was a knee-deep backup of water. Kneeling, steam-soaked, I was unclogging the drain with a plunger and stuff started coming up. At first it was the usual bits, but then came a wadded-up ball of tissue paper, an old blue plastic bottle, a pile of shit, a dead, half-decomposed dog. This was Bea, and she had no hair on her tail and the fur coat was pulled away from her face to reveal tendon and bone. She moved a little, ever so slightly. You came into the room because I was calling and Bea (now alive) was by your side. Her tail wagging. I showed you what had come up and got shit on my fingers as I was trying to use dissolving toilet paper bits to pick the things off the shower floor and put them in a bin. “What am I going to do with this dog from the drain?” I asked. But Bea was gone. And you.
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