the story

we all travel through the story of robert couch

we all travel through the sound of his voice

the sound of him saying "grits"

not just what he meant when he said grits

but his look of disgust when at a diner

in hartford in 1989

it was served to him like oatmeal

we all travel through the story of robert

which is the story of bobby

the story of his mom serving him grits

in mississippi in 1956

the formal plates they used, her watchful eye

the sound of the porcelain touching the table

the smell of the butter, of the molasses, of their home

the story of robert is a collision of stories

it is the story of his cousin larry

how they would crawl underneath the farmhouse

to listen to the adults overhead

to be alone together

we all travel through the story of how larry was more sociable than bobby

more easy going

we journey though story of how they leaned on each other

of how they were friends

the story of one evening

under the house

when a chicken crawled up on larry’s lap

and laid an egg

we travel through the look of embarrassment on larry’s face

the sound of robert telling the story

in philadelphia in 2019

how he liked to tell stories about larry

the story of his laugh

his sugary voice

the way his stories made a space

that you could almost crawl inside of

we all travel through the story of larry

of how people were drawn to him

of how the chicken had chosen him

of how he died at 16

we all journey through the story of my dad

arriving by bus to a studio in new mexico two days late

because the first bus had broken down in texas

arriving by bus from auburn to join the protests in selma in 1965

arriving by bus to cambridge

not sure if susan would be there to pick him up

we all travel through the story of her waving to him

in cambridge at the end of september in 1973

the story of them walking home together, making plans, holding hands

we all travel through fishing at green lane reservoir

robert rousing my brother and I before dawn

buying worms at a small store near the lake

how alex and I stood by the counter

how dad always knew what to say

of opening the styrofoam container

of the earth mixed with the wriggling forms

of how to hook them just right

we all travel through the thrill the of the bobber bouncing in the water

of his guiding hand

the story of robert is the story of an argument in high school

of stomping upstairs

of slamming a door

it is the story of being angry

of being misunderstood

stories are all so simple

the archetypes of narrative

words and punctuation

music is just a bunch of notes

clever choices and timing

repeated vibration

the story of robert is the story of everything we want to know

like the concept of the universe

an idea we tell ourselves

but don't fully understand

we can still travel through the story of robert

pointing up at orion’s belt

pointing to the little dipper

pointing to the dog star

the story of the light traveling across the galaxy

the photons choosing our eyes

we can still travel through the story of robert couch

but to tell the story is to break the spell

is to stop the music

is to be dishonest

is to acknowledge art

is the lie of naming any one point in time