new skin i take

in the dream i have an extra outer layer of skin on my hands, thin and peeling and
cracked in many places.
inside the cracks i see small pantry moths crawling and cocooning and growing and i am just freaked out enough to tear away at the skin to rip off the outer layer.
to make myself a new skin i take a new piece of special paper and cut out the shape of a hand

hiking to the beaver ponds we have to thrash our way through overgrown mountain laurel and high bush blueberry, winding around swampy muck and side stepping sloshy puddles. t says wouldn’t it be easier if mammoths were still alive?, instead of deer trails, we would all just follow mammoth trails.

at first we hear the owls, barred?, and then the coyotes, two, maybe four?, announcing themselves with yips and howls, and we can’t help but
stop our hurried walking (the light is fading, and are we going to make it down the mountain before we can’t see anymore?) to smile and listen to everything that happens in this place at the edge of day and night

an indoor picnic of pomegranate, salted almonds, pickled onions and rhubarb apricot jam on toast
arranged on a milk crate table on a solid oak floor. and not to mention the piece of dark chocolate and the four paper bags of different types of seaweed hand-harvested off the coast of maine. tasting the differences between sea lettuce and kelp and irish moss
while wet boots balance on the edge of desk above the
radiator waiting to dry.

hallway between

standing in the hallway between our rooms
handing the small bell that i’d borrowed for the last eight weeks (with the seahorse shaped handle)
back to srs,
(the one i had used to call in the children from sitting (somewhat) silently in their sit-spots in the woods everyday after lunch)
and as the bell rings now, lightly, passing hands in the hallway, i imagine the moments when i’d ring it over the past weeks (of summer) and the kids would run back from where they’d been sitting on logs or leaning their backs against tree trunks to meet me on the path and show me what they had drawn or written in their journals, and always the few who hid (from the bell) because they didn’t want to go inside yet, and required extra
dragging
and prolonged ringing,
(of the bell) (with the seahorse shaped handle),
that will now go in a suitcase, and fly
back to california with srs on
sunday.