OR THE FIRST NIGHT
in months, Brother dreamed o the sea.
The great mother,
Mem called it. She’d grown up on the coast,said sea dreams ran in the amily. Which explained his dreams,she told him, and why a boy who’d never seen the ocean chaseddolphins in his sleep, heard waves crash shores he never reached,woke shaken and soaked in sweat like something hal-drowned.“I swam with dolphins when I was a girl,” she’d said. “They’regood luck, you know.” He did know. She’d told him many times.But last night’s dream had been the same vain chase. The dol-phin swam ahead o him, just out o reach.He lay still, breathed deep, and let the dream ebb beore open-ing his eyes. His head throbbed, and the glare rom the windowshowed he’d way overslept. The clock said ten. Even at her sick-est, his grandmother rose every day by fve, beore the sun dawnedor the paper thwacked the ront stoop. He’d wake to her fllingthe kettle, hear the scrape and creak o her chair, smell coee