Rain Man
- Sep 20, 2024
- 1 min read
by Brandon Shane
In the hideout scurrying for things to do, as rain hits dirt, trees sway and leaves become leaflets storming the old stone of a city upon a hill,
the worms have done their part, but I’m struggling to find a reason to exist, and last summer I saw a stray dog watching cars beside a highway, as the sun swept hope on a six-hour interval like tides in Brittany, or certain blocks in Los Angeles, where two-by-fours strike at the same rate they build.
My boyfriend grew bored with California, threw a gold ring on a payment plan into the Seine, and returned to Italy with a passport I didn’t have.
I remembered drinking as the clouds filled the reservoirs with enough water to drown all ships in the bottom of a husk filled lake.
Brandon Shane is a poet and horticulturalist, born in Yokosuka Japan. You can see his work in the York Literary Review, Belfast Review, Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Bitterleaf Books, Marbled Sigh, RIC Journal, Heimat Review, Ink in Thirds, among many others. He would later graduate from Cal State Long Beach with a degree in English.
