SHARP DARK STREET

I am inside a light house which has a glass roof. I am looking down from a ledge at eight Black boys below, who are picnicking on the grass in the courtyard. They have a BBQ stove. They got in there through the skylight. I offer them a prize for cleaning up.

My husband is sick in bed. He has come home while I am on toilet.

Another man is not going to work. A psychologist at typewriter about a television program for Channel 12 or 4. A drug store counter with stools. The waitress and her baby are on a stool. I take my baby and leave and go down a sharp dark street.

A group comes in, by the hand rail of balcony on side of house. Waitress takes her baby. I cross street with mine. A knitted jacket is torn and sewn with a machine stitch and kept together with a safety pin. It has a zipper in front. I call the cleaners.

When the Psychiatry Department held Grand Rounds at the art gallery where my dream paintings were on exhibition, I asked one of the faculty to give his impressions about this painting. He "saw" Christ ascending and the Last Supper. I did not interfere with his story reporting my own!

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