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I wander through the deserted
streets of my childhood
The vacant houses of my every happiness
the desolate driveways and playgrounds
of my incomplete memories
Worn smooth and ideal
from being tossed to and fro
in the waves of my reflections
No road's end exists
conclusion, an imagined sparkle in the distance
Where I can put the pieces in some kind of order;
father, brother,
sister, mother.
The perpetual clink and shatter on the pavement
of my little girl rememberings
replayed with every turn of the tricycle wheel
and a double existence
at home in the neighborhood ruins in my heart
and in the sharp, clean reality before my eyes.
