Almost home

Last night I dreamed about Montenegro and the April we spent exploring the jagged coastline. There was still an Iron Curtain and I was always confused because I didn't understand the complex physicality of metaphor. I was only 8 or 9, I suppose I can forgive myself what I didn't know. I dreamed of the Romany people in their brightly coloured clothing where we bought fresh fruit, the salty taste of fresh kefir.  My brother, far more adventurous than I was, walking out far on the rocks, almost being swept away. 

I had learned the year before how quickly adventure could turn, when a a wave caught me by surprise and the undertow held me down. It was the same trip my grandfather and I watched 'The Elephant Man' and he would read to me from _Treasure Island_, before I could no longer trust what I thought of men.   

In my dream, Mama is brushing out my hair squinting out into the distance. The sea wind is moving over my skin and I feel almost safe, almost home.