Seymour Polatkin:
But we did love them. Held tightly to their alcoholic necks and arms as we drove back home. Stole the 6-pack they bought for the road and threw it out the window. Counted mile markers and coyotes standing on the edge of the road. But this is not about sadness. This is about the stories. Those rough drafts that thundered the walls of the HUD house as my sister and I lay awake after we finally arrived home and listened to my mother and father dream. Breathe deep in their sleep and snore like what you might want me to call drums. But in the reservation dark, it meant that we were all alive and that was enough.
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 08:13