Erich Michaels
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…
View original post 186 more words