This morning I woke up and said: "It's 6:30." But I looked at the clock and it was only 6:28.
But then S said, "You were talking. In your sleep. Again."
I remember what I was dreaming. I'd been robocalled by something like Poemfone (but not that), and mechanically prompted to read a poem--any poem--on the spot. I quickly grabbed a book, which turned out to be a pamphlet, by Ron Padgett. I happened to be at my mom's house in Texas, which is always full of sisters and nieces and nephews and so I went in search of a quiet room. All the while the recording was rolling, but I was verbally stalling, explaining I was finding someplace quiet. I tried the room I sleep in (I've never lived in that house) but it was still loud because it's off the living room where the tv was on. So then I went into the bathroom down the hall, and locked the door, and sat on the edge of the tub, and looked down at the pamphlet and the poem by Ron Padgett appeared sort of blurry, but I could make it out somewhat, so I began to read it, and then the lights flickered and faded and then I thought well I'll hold it up to the window the moon is out, and then I tried again. The whole time the recording has been running. And when I looked at it again the words were clear but the poem had changed, had sort of spread itself out across a grid of grey boxes, but I cleared my throat a bit and began to read.
So that must have been what I was saying in my sleep.