Listening to ‘90s Era Americana

on the radio on a Sunday morning:
Uncle Tupelo and Lucinda Williams,
Steve Earle and the Jayhawks,
Son Volt and Roseanne Cash.

A decade’s worth
of music-triggered memories.
The prime of my life cut open
exposes a swath of impossible

highs, unbearable lows.
How will I ever forgive
myself for the ’90s, forgive
those years for what’s left

of me? How can I not? I already have. Drunken angels send the best postcards.

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