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.