Memory

I learned about family

in a house on Saddler Court. That was home.

Two stories, a fenced backyard,

a purple bedroom.

Ignorant of anxieties, from the people I love. That was home

When Karen and Tommy were my neighbors.

The noise of New York Ave always kept me company,

but the ice cream truck never came. That was home.

Jumping over fences, to continue playing.

Being called in at 5:30 for ravioli and meatballs.

Being the only person in the house who knew

everything will be okay. Yet being clueless of it.

That was home.

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