someone is tearing up my old street
putting in new pipes
but it belongs to me
I can’t help but feeling,
seeing - how the kids on the street would have felt
long before me
the turning of pages
the sidewalks are not what they once were, and the passing of time has tossed me
where are the kids now
someone turned and someone didn’t
all of their cats have died, all of their dogs have died, all of their dreams have died
the oldest of stories,
these trees are older than me and will outlive me, and we’ve been watching each other for a long time, every season we come more apart -
how they come, and how I realize
that they now belong
to someone else.
they wave at me, the new ones
they survive the flooding – moving the dirt around like it was nothing
the flowers don’t have a name yet
I don’t know what to call it
something like traveling and seeing death
something like a funeral for someone you haven’t seen in years
someone you didn’t know
these flowers don’t have a name
yet I want to call them something
like leaving home