Lindie Heeralall

The ground is dry

Rust-coloured sand and stones

The giant J-cloth is crumpling and grumbling

My heart begins to race

I run

Cloth chases me

I run and run.

I dreamt about the Giant J-cloth chase when I was a child. I have never forgotten it. Perhaps I worried the J cloth would wipe me away and I would be rinsed down the plughole with the breadcrumbs. Maybe I was part of the mess, rather than the person making the mess.