Sleep

She had her first nightmare just now. Perhaps not her first nightmare, but the first she could articulate. I heard a scream that fully awakened my mother's alarm. "Mima, atutes peto." In other words, "Mima me asusto un perro." I brought her to our bed where she could not find her sleep until she was nestled beneath her father's armpit. There they lay. Both of them, likely unlikelys - her for being here despite our grief over losing Amaly, and him for fathering at 50. Is it trite to think of things in terms of destiny? They share the same face, the same color. They are what fill my life with the sentiments of humanity - cariño, dolor, comprension, angustia, amor. Each walking through the circle of their sleep and inhabiting mine, where we are connected, engaged, and then distanced. I do not know what he dreams. He himself, rarely remembers except for when he dreams of playing basketball again. I know that she giggles often and kicks as if she is running. And now I know that a dog was attacking her. I am unable to really dream since she was born. Her frequent night wakenings have nearly driven me mad. I was told that when the mnd/body cannot enter REM sleep it goes into a psychosis. For now, they are sleeping and I am writing - a kind of dreamlike bliss for me one way or another.