Tuesday, February 15, 2022

my mother was a sunshine of memory

I
there was a short walkway to the duplex 
around which japanese beetles swarmed
my mother was a sunshine of memory yellow at 
the back of my neck
she illuminated the pavement that soon
would cease to be my world
 
II
on Belmont ave alone with a baseball bat
I swung and took the life of a swarm of firefly 

I have long ago forgotten their names

I have since lived in regret and supplication
 
their death lights remind me of the faces of dead cats 
our neighbors killed. 

III
In my dreams I am tormented by two places

a small infinitely growing patch of grass at 
the end of a long suburban street

a gray hulking jug shaped water tower
watching from a distance.

IV
30 years ago I leapt from the top of the
tallest slide in the world

in my memory they have left it standing
after all these years.