The promised money
came in notes much later
over Christmases
and in exchange for silver.
I learned later about grants,
the first generation.
What that all meant.
What is it you think you want?
Over years of wonder and
figures that I never
bothered to understand
the sound of the band
poured over me.
And
I heard them.
Each note
and word
The silence in between–
brief and unexpected.
Cool on the last day of June.
I can’t create this again
And never will I hang my head
over and say my past didn’t
build me
and that the middle
of nowhere
isn’t everywhere
I go.