Where Memories Form

there is a place
within every moving cloud
it is the place where our tears begin
and our memories form
a shelter where reason mutates into passion
it is where the hopes for our future
             tell stories to their children
                         in this place
             a breath that holds our past
rustles the leaves of a lonely oak
            and whispers the names
of all the dreams that have been dreamt
       it lets them drift into the twilight
and remember the laughter
         of all those that dreamt them
            and who have now
                   heard their last silence

Continue reading

Making Grandpa

1
‘Hey dad, tell me that story again about grandpa, you know, about how he was sitting out on the porch in the dark & how you didn’t notice him gone until the morning, his stiff blue tongue sticking out from his frizzled face. Tell me dad how you were drunk but set off anyways with grandpa towards the city. How you sometimes had to stop the car & vomit you were so scared.

Continue reading