When did silence become too loud for sleep? When did this quiet roaring begin in my ears? My dead mother’s lament has become a repeated song in my dreams. The sound of water is rushing through my head, carving channels in memory, making flows and eddies of childhood doings. Rivers of regret spiraling into vortexes of self-remonstrance.
About the Author: Brother Joe Dean
Joe was born in the log cabin he helped his mother build. He enjoys short walks on the beach, turtle husbandry, the books of Thomas Pynchon, UFO sightings, kittens, and the films of Andrei Arsenyevich Tarkovsky.
- October 14th, 2019 | 0 Comments