By Daniel McGinn

Daisy carried her dream around, trying to decide what to do with it. It’s not that the dream wasn’t a keeper but you know how dreams are, slowly but surely we forget them all. I know that she left this one between the mouse and the mouse pad on a stranger’s desk. It’s a neat desk compared to hers but it was messy enough that she had no problem leaving it there. There is little left to say. I remember her trying to talk to you but you had no face. You were mute as a soup spoon lying in a dark drawer. No one could close the lid on that coffin.

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