I can’t remember what room I was in
15 years old
involuntary 24 hour hold
in the elmwood village
now I look over my yard
past the liquor store
to the the abandoned glass faces
of your darkened rooms
wonder what I would tell her
wonder what she would see, looking out
I don’t remember the view
don’t remember the way these white lines
must’ve looked fresh
red, raw, and new
but I imagine
her looking out at me
while I smoke a cigarette
while onyx tosses a stick
while walking hodge in twilight hours
while I write these words
what is it I would tell her
what could ten years offer her
to console
to comfort
all I see are black abandoned faces
in groups of three
empty rooms
ghosts of girls long dead
or recovered.