From descriptions of dreams in The Grave on the Wall, a memoir by Brandon Shimoda, out this month from City Lights. The book is an elegy for the author’s grandfather Midori.
My father and I are in Manhattan. We are trying to get to Kelly and Neil’s apartment in Brooklyn, but we do not know where the subway is. We stop in at a flower shop. Cross the bridge, the florist says, then turn left.
There are thousands of people on the bridge. The bridge is dark, without lights. The thousands of people have formed a mass and are…