I moved to this neighborhood forty-two years ago today.
I moved here six months before Elvis Presley passed away.
Crosby Park is the name of my neighborhood.
I've been here for a long time and I'll be here for good.
I still remember the day when I moved here.
It's been over four decades, that's a lot of years.
I became the owner of my property eight years ago in 2011.
My parents gave it to me two years before they went to Heaven.
I moved to Crosby Park forty-two years ago today.
I've been here since I was five and I'm here to stay.

This country.
This city.
This neighborhood.
This house.
This room.
This bed.
I don’t feel like I belong here.

Clings of metal, pots and kettles.

Trumpets of laughter, drumming of tables,
planting of cables.

Sounds of games, clashing of swords, narrator's voice saying "game on!"

Quiet dim lights. Sounds in sound played in rooms, as people bring dishes out at noon.

Walls of cold separated speakers, waves of warmth shook the walls.
Crying in Midnight's, cats at 3, pens clicking at half past two.

Computers locked open.
Music of this neighborhood rang in my ears, as I stand by the door, paper wrapped in hand. Looking to the lights of another home...

through little roads tired car pokes
on the track to Ordinary Joe's
gatecrasher, purple shuttered, fort
between two white picket fence houses
tucked up half-pint box out of line on the line
in cold, squeezed, lemonade
sweet spring ambrosia to the lip
of deep green blanket children sit on, play on
running around shoes and socks
thrown on sidewalk hot as frying pan
crack an egg/hear it sizzle
dotted trees all the same side to side
rooms hide in cramped spaces like cubbies
slips of lip like butter roll off snake tongues
daggers pointed
circus act on display or an animal in the zoo
that doesn't fit in this topsy-turvy slide-show
called life
hackneyed stares glued in place on childish faces
like a match of heads or tails
cupped hands carry quarters for crank candy jars
at mall, or pick-up sticks snatched from floor

Wake up to find it’s gone
It’s gone for good
The old way is gone
It’s a new neighborhood

Nothing’s quite the same
Same old rules
New twisted game
No feelings save for hate
No love to contemplate

I’m blind without what I need
Without it I’m all alone
I don’t feel safe
Can I learn to call you home?

A middle-aged couple
Stares out their front window
Happily watching the workers
Busy on their front lawn, digging a hole.

They had lived in this neighborhood
For three years
With their three precious daughters,
The family dog, and only two trees.

The mother would often complain
Because the houses looked bare
The father was sad,
Said the air was stale.

But they know well that each day that brings a trial
Brings a blessing, too.
Today, the dog is barking
And there's plenty of work to do.

Still, they smile.
Because today they get a brand new tree.

Raj was so conservative
She always wore
so many layers
Even on the hottest days
in summer
in summer I rarely saw her
wearing skin
even when my friends from the barrio opened up the hydrant and we played in the street in our bathing suits
Raj they asked me for one day
I think back and
cower over what has
become of my poor friend
Raj
She was always covered up
that I rarely saw her
but to think now
I'll never
see her
again