I dreamed you into existence, carefulto make you less perfect than I knew youwould be, choosing your grandmother’s weakknees, your grandfather’s cruel streak,an aunt’s meatless calves, my own callousvanity. Before you were born I dreamedof chicken bones, knives and coins, clouds shaped likesheep, and shamrocks, and buntings. I burned incense,gathered feathers, pinched countless dough babiesfrom flour and salt. Always there was fear, alwaysthere was longing, always this bargainingwith nameless gods, gods who cared if the next carwould be blue, if a dog would bark before I reacheda thousand. An old woman knocked, brightof eye, kind of countenance, offering mushrooms andfigs, or dishes of cream, and I shut the door, evenin my dream. That’s fairy-tale stuff; none of that, my love.When the dark bird flew against the glass as dawnsoftened the…