the carousel

I lie in the crib and the carousel turns above me. The animals come around on their strings. There are five of them. I have counted, I cannot stop counting.

The dolphin swings into view, and I see the seam where its two halves were joined. The thread is falling apart from years of usage, I can see the cotton innards beginning to expose themselves.

The carousel stops spinning. The seam quickly dissolves, the dolphin is simply the dolphin, gleaming, and I find myself laughing. My hands have come together and I start clapping.

I study the nose, the tail, the eye. I want to stay ahead of it this time. It is a molded shape, I tell myself, it is nothing. For a moment that holds. Then the shape goes dull in precisely the way I knew it would, the joy drains out on schedule.

Now the dread. I hear sounds to my right.

I turn my head, look through the bars of my crib. Beyond them, the room. A door stands open. I hear faint music.

Through the doorway I see the figures illuminated by dancing lights. I hear sounds of laughter.

I make myself look at it. Stay here, I tell myself, in this, with the door and the music and laughter and the warmth and

My hand goes up. I watch it go. It finds the carousel and spins.

Here comes the horse. This is new, my body insists. The flood arrives and I cannot refuse. The mane, the great legs, the teeth. I am clapping and kicking my feet. I hear myself giggle.

I am wiped perfectly clean.

When the horse goes dull, the dolphin will come back around. It is always coming back around. I have counted. There are five.