by Victoria Korth
You called it plin and plout, playing in or playing out, to be decided after school up to a certain age. Brother, your inventiveness brought joy to freedom, your rules simple but essential— _in and through the wooded lots between the houses, garages, porches, sheds were out of bounds. Yet my heart begged to outwit you, it hurts still, or so it seems you may be running scared among its trees, tuned to the slightest sound, skin alive with eyes, especially as dusk falls, especially in the dark when the flag is luminous.
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