At the Private Museum

I had begun to fade in the unseasonal heat and asked the tour guide if we could not spend too much time viewing the outdoor sculpture installation under her watchful eye. My brother erupted in anger and embarrassment, hissing “oh, jeez” at me under his breath. Somehow, my innocuous request had catapulted him into his adolescent embarrassment about our family. As for me, tears sprang to my eyes. I filed the incident away for future contemplation.

the long walk
back to the bus stop —
dry grass rustles

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