At the intersection
Of memory and dream
Of actual and fabricated
I remember being very young
In my childhood home
The wind whipping outside
The storm door slamming
The glass cracking
Another moment I’m walking
Down the alleyway and slipping around
I don’t know if I was told of the incident
Before or after the memory’s birth
So at some level I doubt it’s authenticity
My grandfather had beaten up my uncle
Leaving blood on the ground
That my little feet lost traction in
I remember the old variety shows
That inspired me to tap dance
In my grandpas work boots
On the wood floor of the back hallway
Or was that fashioned from stories?
I remember being on a car ride
Going up north to the reservation
The driver let go of the wheel
Enough play the wheel wobbled to and fro
In my young mind it spun untethered
My little world spinning with it
This blurring
These dark waters
They take on the shape of their containers
But are impossible to see through
They are still a part of my sum
And they affect me in ways
Both that I’m aware and unaware of
But I am a survivor
I build castles out of these sands
That so readily slip through my fingers
Unless wetted with tears of silent knowing
While I know some of these memories
Are fashioned to erode at my foundations
There are others that give support
I’m sure there’s a long forgotten song
Whose lyrics have faded into pasts’ patina
But the outlines of the sound wave
Of the singer’s guttural scream
The lamentation that speaks of my sorrow
That props me up
To take on another trying moment
Thank you Joplin, Holiday, Morissette
Thank you grandma, mother, aunts
Thank you my lovely wife
Thank you for your songs
I stand another day because of you
erichmichaels 