Looking Outside the Upstairs Window, and It's All Saints Day
The dead-end street in front of the house
is still, and I notice leaves have fallen.
The roommate said last night no one
came here for trick or treating
and now a cold wind blows.
I just moved in here yesterday.
I’m starting my life again.
A cold wind blows and I go out.
Last night a stranger and I
drank together. She said
no one knows you like your mother.
The lady set down her drink and asked
where has the year gone.
Where has the year gone?
My mom’s gone.
My dad’s gone,
I think tonight
I’ll call my cousin.
The street in front is quiet.
rolled up newspapers are stacked
on the front porch
of the house next door.
A ravine lies on the east side
where the road ends.
Music plays downstairs
and a singer’s voice drones
to the rhythm of a drum machine
then falls silent.
A door slams shut.
The most recent poem I write
is a lost conversation.
All my past loves and all who died—
their shadows dance on the wall
as the sun looks through my window.
I’ll grab a bite for breakfast
after stepping out the door.
I haven’t met the neighbors,
not yet.
It’s true that we are looking
for someone, it’s true.
A fallen leaf dances across the yard
and my back aches.
A story stirring inside me
lives beyond its time.
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