last night i dreamt that my grandfather tried to kill me. in the minutes between sleep and wakefulness i saw him, sitting on an orangey coloured velvet couch. he was telling me something, something inane. then he was telling me something else, something i had a hard time agreeing with. then he was coughing spasmically, his frail body doubled over and his face on the seat cushion, close to mine. i held his arms tightly and he said something hopeful and profound although i knew it was hopeless. i tried to smile. he had strength all of a sudden and i felt cheered that i could get away on a good note. i hugged him and he started crying. his arms around me felt like the crushing power of a machine, a steam roller or a junkyard compressor. i couldnt breathe awakening to find i was wrapped like a mummy in my duvet.