She had a hard time returning from sleepland.
She would feel herself lifted as if bourne by the wind, kissed, and rocked while Mama said;
"Are you on the boat yet? Are you on the boat? Are you coming home?"
(it was so delicious to remain cooking in the womb of warm blankets and familiar smells! Two places at once!)
at the sleepland dock anyway.
To be curled in a ball. To sense the slant
of the light and the warmth of Mama.
To put off returning home while resting at home.
For a little bit longer.
"It's time to come back from sleepland Clary, you need to get on the boat. Say good bye to sleepland."
"Yes. Say, 'I'll see you tonite sleepland'."
And then she was back, fully home again, and stretching. Strrrreetchhhing. And there was grit in her eye, wierd stuff, and she rubbed it very hard in a very satisfactory kind of way.
"That's sleep. They put it in your eyes when you're in sleepland. Everybody there wears it."
"To stay asleep."
"Because otherwise you'd wake up, and you'd actually see sleepland."
"I want to see sleepland."
"Was the boat late?"
"Yes. I waited and waited."
"Oh well. I'm glad you're back."
And the day would start and be like any other day. And where was sleepland then. Was it hovering unseen? Resting in the back corner of her pillow?
The ferry waiting patiently to carry her across the water.
And I wonder, where is it now?