In ’94

Everything was better in ’94
dusty cars flannels
a semi-decent or at least mildly interesting president
cigarettes doc martins peace signs
NO CELL PHONES
counting crows on the tape deck
her blonde hair and that
stretch-beyond-the-horizon ocean laugh
it was sapphire blue then emerald glitter started floating around us
and I held my breath until the tiny little fragmented fairies finally made
its way
from her drivers seat
over to mine
I was
10 years old
the road was smooth ahead of us- perfectly paved
not like her many marriages
not like her nervous system or fibromyalgia or agoraphobia or panic attacks or thoughts of abortion or abandonment issues or the remembrance of rape or short temperament, no…
not like that
smooth, joyful and bright like the day she finally got her college degree or the day of her proposal to the FOURTH husband and I cried in my room because I just couldn’t bare the thought of this horrific monster with the
droopy stoner eyes and
porno comic books becoming part of the “family”.
It was supposed to be her and I
Her, my baby sister and I
not him
not them
the affairs and the lies and sleepless nights and
“Sorry this stepdad isn’t working out maybe one day you’ll have a new one”
Buh oh, those sunny afternoon drives
those Tori Amos mornings those
Sarah McLachlan nights those
R.E.M. bedtime stories
those satin-covered Moody Blues tunes at dusk
those originals you sang on your guitar
tuning that would blow the minds of the most prestigious rock gods
your delicate hands strumming every
magnificent chord
shining bright
giving me the only good memories I’ve ever written
smiling like I was your angel and I would bring you home
these precious things…
these little glimpses of a cinematic orchestra
Because I was 10
and everything was better
in ’94