For him the past was a story trove, for me it was a series of embarrassments that woke up and lingered like morning phlegm.
My brother tells another story on our porch. I notice how night falls earlier in mid-August. How the North Star rises off the horizon. How it calls me like a conjurer in an epic fantasy.
My brother will stay in this town and rise. He’ll talk about how the band played “Forever Young” at his graduation and he knew he was destined. But who will tell the story of that morning when I woke and wandered?
My brother tells another story on our porch. I notice how night falls earlier in mid-August. How the North Star rises off the horizon. How it calls me like a conjurer in an epic fantasy.
My brother will stay in this town and rise. He’ll talk about how the band played “Forever Young” at his graduation and he knew he was destined. But who will tell the story of that morning when I woke and wandered?
