The Weather in the Streets
by Mary Robinson
The winters I was there, storms trashed the beaches, littered them horribly with mangled fish, great fish halves, and snarls of seaweed and plastic junk. Jellyfish that had seemed so graceful, glittering in the water, were now a plop of mucus on the shore. There were castaway lobster traps spangled with dozens and dozens of starfish. Rachel brought home a little one, believing it would dry out nicely, but after a day it began to reek. Once, after an accident at Logan, the sea threw up a blue airplane passenger seat. It floated onto the beach at G Street and, looking exhausted, lay on its side in the sand.