Strut, with swollen feet
Walking on America Street

Sirens
Blue, Red
Red and Blue

Held at gunpoint
Please, don’t make any quick movements
Wince, I looked away.

Old friend
Why didn’t-
No why didn’t you stay
I thought you married her, her blond hair, and soft eyes
Why didn’t she stay

Red curly afro hair,
She is not your age

Why didn’t you give me the time of day?

Oh well,
Walking on America Street

Mothers
Talking to daughters

Jaded voices,
Become subdue.

Eyes gazing
Daughter-
Stiffed black corduroy dress

Threading interwoven
Fagoting stitch
A bridge between two edges.
Seam.

All I could think about was you.
Intertwined with you
Soul to soul.

Silent.

Irish temper
Get the hell out of my kitchen

Once abandoned baby
Coo.

Don’t come back-

Gone.
Gone?
Yes, gone.

Ginger hair becomes white
White, white

I hope my hair looks like yours,
when I’m older

Elderberry drinks

Soft footsteps
Emerald green rug
Ornate.

Roasted garlic caramelized
Subtle and buttery
Once pungent and sharp

Flowers as centerpieces
Tulips emblematic of spring
Rebirth

Yet. I’m stuck sipping
On this drink
Thinking of you

And the joints of the floorboards
Rubbing together

Blood and toil on dirt.
Dirt to gravel.

Land of the free.
I started dancing on marble.
And its sweet land of privilege.