“In a dream Jesus said, ‘you are all seedlings,'” I told them. They stopped sipping their lattes and chewing their crumb cakes. It wasn’t really Jesus but a shabby horned owl. I wasn’t going to tell them the truth now that I finally had all their attention. Coffee drifted throughout the air as glasses clinked and people sipped. The problem was my friends were all now watching me, waiting. I don’t deal well with pressure. Clearly they wanted a meaning or an epiphany or something. “Well?” Susan asked, wiping crumbs from her pink lip. My mind raced trying to piece the dream back together. Hoping to give them something that Jesus might have said in a dream, but the owl didn’t say another word. It just blinked a few times and flew off.
James Evans Remick II is a Cleveland poet and playwright. He is an avid drinker of coffee and whiskey but rarely at the same time. He has two cats (Rasputin and Csonka), two chickens (Didi and GoGo), but only one wife. Look for his book Eating Yogurt with a Fork.