Salt by Tekla McInerneyDuring one particularly sleepless month, I recorded my dreams the fleeting narratives that linger momentarily after waking up. The incongruous notes I made each morning were culled and ordered and eventually became Salt. The ladder is missing. I know the ladder is missing because it is my dream I walk through backwards, effortlessly up a hill of tall grassoutstretched arms, green sash dangling from one hand a crush of muttering hunched shoulders ahead