Island Dreams

I can’t remember the way I felt, walking splash eyed in the rain. Every car that passed me on the Island stopped to ask if I wanted a ride over town, my wet stem arm holding cat piss smelling umbrella that snapped inside out like a bat wing, waving no thanks. All my insides rain feelings. The rain myself in the atmosphere, driving down upon everything. No one in Old Town stopped to ask if I needed a lift from the rain: they are all strangers driving straight faced and to themselves. On the Island: they are all family watching out for everyone.

Walking his dog, he wears a yellow rain jacket and says to me, “Your umbrella’s leaking.”
Is it?
“Oh, nevermind, you’re dry under there.”
Dry dry dry.
“Watch for the wind. It turned me inside out back by the pond.”

The Bingo sign advertises: Good luck’s coming. A laughing woman saw me running in the rain this morning and said, “You’re crazy.” I said, “Yep,” and kept running. In an e-mail this afternoon, Paula put the ghosts at bay with one taut sentence. Now it is so peaceful.

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