by Gabrielle Griffis Lane Gore Before my brother was born he was a cactus, solitary, beautiful, frequented by insects. In winter he would dehydrate to keep from freezing beneath the snow, and in summer he’d bloom just for one day. The bridge extends across the water, littered with crab carcasses and oyster shells. Wind blows beach grass and reeds. I peer over the edge, at the murky sea water below, unable to tell if the tide is coming or going. The bridge connects to an islan