My neighbors do puzzlesin the common room.They do the fringes firstpiece by piecemulti colored housescastles on mountainsslide into placethose imaginary childhoods,the colors too bright.A little pond beyond the picket fence.
Alice found her son on Halloween.A gunshot wound to the headand the mess of a mother’s loveon the sheets, the walls, and the windows.
Sally raised six daughtersrunning a day care center at home,small shoes lined up at her doorwayas frantic mothers always latepick up children in holding cellsnot their own.
I can hear Betty scream at night,the smell of marijuana from my open window,smoke falls on my cactus plantsjust flowering for Christmas.There is nothing floral here.I’ve learned my killing of flowers is neglect.
As I stop to say hello.I think about other landscapes.The exhaust of cars on fresh snow.dead children sledding down concrete walls.
When I leave themsay my goodbyesand open my front doorreports from Democracy nowechoes down the hallway,160,000 dead Americansand a no mask riot.
Nothing slips into place.The shape of nostalgiapiece by pieceframes a finished puzzledismantled and put awayto begin a new.
Photo by Robert Collins on Unsplash