Even before this, I had a dream that I showed up to the hospital and walked into your room and you were awake. Your jaw hung loose and a fat pale tongue writhed in the air, and you made distasteful moans, your eyes unable to focus on anything, like nothing was there, your hands curled against your wrists and waving them around. Skin like wax. The front of your gown soaked in saliva. Your mom sat on the bed with you and looked up, beaming. “My baby’s back,” she said.
