
It was all about my best friend's family from when I was a teenager, but they weren't really like themselves. I slept over because her sister was upset about another miscarriage. Though she was a very young woman in the dream, the miscarriages were the fading out of some great, lifelong hope.
There was some kind of fight. I screamed and railed and cried at my best friend and her mother in the dream.
At one point I suggested folic acid from dark greens for the barren sister, and claimed that this is what I was doing to protect my childbearing ability.
We all made friends again. It was the morning. My friend's Facebook newsfeed showed a post from me that I couldn't remember writing. It was a long poem about the miscarriages directed towards the sister. It was encouraging various paths of action for the sister to take to become pregnant again.
That's when my friend told me that her mother liked to write poetry using my name as a pseudonymn. The poem was embarrassingly bad, but probably pretty close to the poetry I would actually write. There was a line about a large vagina turned upwards to accept the rain.