Summer with the open windows: 7. The dream (alternative ending)

VII. The Dream

A seaplane sits on the front lawn with its propellers spinning. It’s kicking up quite a surf, I say, maybe we should close the windows.

A child drowns in the eddy, the sound is rushing. She wore white; I cried and cried.

I tie a string to a paper airplane I made. Like a balloon, it floats above my head. Then later, flies away.

Some dark hour, the tide comes in, brings in sea things. Foam crosses the parlor, moves down the hall, I lift my legs to let a log by.

Behind the couch, sea snakes gather; they look up at me, their mouths full of water.

I wake up, one hot night – the fan on high.


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