We ran to our fort in the woods that was little more than a rut in the ground. Our imaginations made it something more, though, and it suited us fine.
My baby brother in the pine needles. He spoke to me, but I hadn’t heard, distracted by birds.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I hope he never comes back.”
I imagined I could hear a bird expanding its ribcage in song. I took my brother’s hand while he wept.
We ran home.
Dad’s truck wasn’t in the driveway.
Thankful, we ran some more. Our chests extended, vibrating, in perfect harmony.
My baby brother in the pine needles. He spoke to me, but I hadn’t heard, distracted by birds.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I hope he never comes back.”
I imagined I could hear a bird expanding its ribcage in song. I took my brother’s hand while he wept.
We ran home.
Dad’s truck wasn’t in the driveway.
Thankful, we ran some more. Our chests extended, vibrating, in perfect harmony.
