Tenderize the Night

She is sleeping on a bed as soft as an overcooked steak. The lumpy mashed potato pillows and the afghan with its unraveling bit of string bean yarn frame her body, as still and old as a two day old roll.

But her dreams are sweet. The dull flat, with its dirty tile floor and weathered facade are replaced with walls made of graham crackers. The lifeless posters and cracked plaster are in this sugar spun temperaneous world smell of peppermint and the jewel tone gum drops twinkle. The dining table is bare of good china or her grandmother's heirloom silver. She takes a bite. It's made of chocolate and its joint meet one another in nougat.

She slumbers on. The maid sleeps transformed. The sun bleached uniform is pink and the once sagging skirt twirls in mid-air, dancing with the silk ballet slippers.

In this dream she dresses; not with haste and reluctance, but with expectation. When she looks in the mirror there is a smile there, as if it had been waiting for her face to simply show up and complete the happy reflection.

There is a hint of doom. Behind her she seems the glare of the evil witch's red eyes. Next, she hears the horrible cackle of the witch's laugh. She flees. She tries to fend off the monsters with her licorice whip.

A white hand lashes out from under the overboiled green beans, slapping the top of the alarm clock like a mosquito.

She crawls down the stairs that groan profanities at her, and places her coffee mug on the well worn table. By the time she adds the sugar, the sweetness of her other life is already forgotten.