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.