September 2024

No wrought iron bars like the door at my Aunt Cherry’s house
on the East Side, her husband Ben always working on a car
in the thin driveway, his mother who lives next door, cell-like

den adjacent to the dining room, whose wooden table
is always polished, place mats always set, napkins folded,
Cherry domineering through the kitchen…

For three days, yellow haze has enveloped 
the coast, bathing this city in unease,

coating our narrowing throats. Another year 
has passed without you. Today, your daughter, 

now ten, asked if you left a note. 
More questions will come. 

It is  June, and I have never been brave.
Wildfires can cast their smoke across borders 

but you stay…

My child is upset that they cannot jump over their shadow.
They want me to help them. They want me to teach them
how it’s done. The best I can do is an invitation

to jump over each other’s shadows instead. This satisfies them
for a moment and then the moment is gone. In sunlight
my shadow loves to give me a little dose of sorrow…