Glenn G. Coats
It is raining and she is alone at the shore. Her room is on the fifth floor where most of the apartments are abandoned like nests until summer. She can see a piece of the ocean from the deck and cars moving on the streets below. The cars are becoming familiar. Ones that pass early in the morning and return home around dinner time. A few lap the block again and again and Adele believes someone is watching her.
Sand on the beach has been stripped away by winter storms and it is strewn with driftwood. She gathers shells each afternoon and keeps them locked in the trunk of her car. Adele talks to other beachcombers as she wanders past the end of the boardwalk. The island feels like a prison and she seldom leaves. No one is coming for a visit. In a few months the Ferris wheel will turn again—then, something will happen.
on and off breezes
my sister reads words
that are not there