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Sarah’s Child
Susan Jane Bigelow
Once, I dreamed that I had a son named Sheldon, and my grief tore a hole in the fabric of the world.
In my dream I walked through the halls of an elementary school, and I went into the office. Everything was gray and blocky, but somehow not oppressive. I was certain, then, that it was the elementary school in my old hometown, and that I was both myself and also not myself.
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