The Golden Goose I’ve had dreams of myself from the future standing in a suit by the old church, telling me to keep my head down. “Just keep your head down. It gets tough out here, and if you’ve got something good, just stick with it. Don’t worry about fame, or the next person.” And I thought about whether he meant “Don’t believe you can do any better”, or if he meant “Appreciate what you have.” I own a goose that lays golden eggs. She doesn’t speak English and doesn’t like to dance, but I’m worried that if I cut her open or sell her on the open market they will turn me into an animal too. And the boy with the long hair in the long suit besides the crumbled pillar knows the truth, and for a moment before I wake up I think I can see it beneath his forehead- there’s something in the eyes, you see. I believe that someone texted him some information, or gave him a phone call, and he tried to share that information in magazine interviews, but that by the time he reached the studio it didn’t seem important anymore. That night, in the dream, he turned to the people, the gathering crowds: “look at all my golden eggs!”, he says. “Look at all these half-formed sentences! This natural ability!” They cheer and raise their hands with questions. “Who taught you well?” “When will you rest?” feathers in your hair?” “What next, what next?”
“What of the
I woke up feeling dark and ill and checked my phone. I texted the vet and coaxed information out of her, sentence by sentence. 117
