by Kyle Minor
Some nights he woke around four as they say in the morning but it wasn’t yet, it was still dark and rainy and the whistle from the cargo train greeted him when he turned on the light in his back room and typed from the place where there wasn’t yet logic, just the steady stream of what was fully felt but half-remembered, and somewhere in there was the girl from Indiana who left him to play soccer in Budapest, the long all-nights after the spring she left when he walked laps the circle around his old campus, and once on the sidewalk greeted another girl he half-knew, who said, Tell me your story, and when he told her she seemed very sad and tired and told him Budapest was very far away, didn’t he know Budapest was so far, and didn’t he know everything there was about life wasn’t there in Budapest, how everything in life was here in Indiana?
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 