The Hour

This is the hour for forgetting

This is the hour when my mind

Is kind

It does not remind me that summer

Is a painful time

Of memories

That are unspeakably vivid

This is the hour for remembering

Those late night trips of my youth

With the brother that refused fear

With the brother

That was determined to live

Even if he perished in the process

This is the hour

That summons memories

Of the tattered back pack

In which I kept my chaotic life

Walking the streets

Of my small town

Looking for a place to sleep

Anywhere but home

This is the hour when

My best friends found me

When they answered the door

And let me in

When they pulled up

In broken pick-up trucks

And we chased the night

Running from the dawn

This is the hour of my first kiss

That lead to years of confusion

All of which were worth it

This is the hour

When playing on a swing set

Made perfect sense

And perfect bliss

In this moment

I idealize the trauma

That created tears in my eyes

This is the hour

When I never knew

If I would survive

This is an hour of nostalgia

That tastes like dark chocolate

When the world made no sense

And it was painful and perfect

And I was alive