phone home


This dream I keep having where my cell phone is falling apart… perhaps I dropped it to many times and was too hard on my liver. I am at the port of Friday Harbor where it falls out of my hand and it’s innards skittle across the dock and fall through the cracks.
I am down there under the sun dried planks picking up all the micro chips. Down there I remember finding quarters with Wes from the pay phones and newspaper machines above.

The micro chips turn into these little like marbles, small like the things you would bead necklaces, bracelets, earrings and friendship pins out of.

I find all the pieces and begin to stuff them back into this crooked cell phone. In my mind I think about duct tape and how I could make it work again.

There is someone I need to call, there is something I need to say, but of course in a dream you can never press the numbers you needed to press.

Moment by moment the little beads fall out of my hand into the water and grass, some blow away in the wind… it is all impossible…
I should have grabbed the quarters instead and reach out to someone…
old school style.