adoption, reunion, reforM, reality**
In the dream, I am always a soldier but I am not dressed like a soldier, I am dressed like a girl.
My hair is long and dark.
The way I wore it when I was young.
I am lying flat on the ground watching a house, trying to get closer. The house is painted white, two stories. It sits on a wide green field above the sea. It looks like Normandy, all those movies of the invasion, but there are no guns, or bomb craters, or German bunkers. No other soldiers but me, an army of one, trying to get to the house.
It’s in darkness except for one dim light shining deep inside. I cannot find the way in. I circle it trying to get closer but I cannot get closer. I move from trench to trench, berm to berm. But I can never get closer, I can never get inside. I try and I try. And then I always wake up.
When we meet, my son shows me the picture. Taken in France. He is sitting in the window of a white house. It’s Brittany not Normandy. It’s where he spent
Lucky, I think.
And then I understand.
** For new readers, I am working through the letters in these words as my writing prompts during NaBloPoMo 2011.