Island Dreams

Fiddleheads: immature ferns with heads curled like the tops of fiddles. People go crazy for them here, cooking them with salt pork, or topping them with vinegar.
The river turns orange at night.
The paper mill has just recently closed. Hundreds in Penobscot County have lost their jobs.
It all comes around, my father said when I complained of gloomy weather in Wisconsin. It all does comes around. The Penobscot River is dammed, falls on the river, like Spokane. Orono, just south of here, is a college town like any other with bicyclists and dive bars.

I’m ready. Take me. My life has cracked open my heart has cracked open. I am free. My life is no longer closed off. Anything that is good enough for the kind people here is good enough for me. Anything that is of this place is of me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s