“Mom did God create me?” “No. I created you.” “No. God created me!” “Yes—with my influence.” “Hip-hip” “Bless you—Dear Dog. You were born with the hic’ups!” “Are you the only one Dear Dog talks to? “No. She talks to others too. O listen . . . that’s Dear Dog’s favorite
song ____________________________ [ ]” “How do you know that?” “Cause she told me! The other day I had Chris Botti’s CD going on and when
it came to song number five she said: May I have this dance?” “And?” “And—we danced!” “But . . . but . . . is she your daughter?” “She is everything I don’t have close to me. A Dear Sister. A Dear Mother.
A Dear Best Friend. A . . .” “But you have a mom.” “Look at the moon. The earth gives us honey and milk. I can dance in the air.
Rotate the wheel. Animals talk. I participate in the inner life of another. I can feel supernatural. Free. I keep my socks on during the labor. My words begin as a voice in the heart.” “Mom—is that an eco-lite prayer?” “Can you think of its creator?”
]”
