Cinderblocks
I don’t tell my son
How everything he thought
Could renew
Sprout green
Was long gone
Dried shoots
I assembled bricks
From ashes
Props I hope last
Until his adulthood
When the stage
Can be cleared
Drive
One of my first memories is riding
in a Toyota Tercel
my mom dropping me off
at daycare
I had deja-vu
on those car rides
before I knew what deja-vu was
Asphalt dome-covered hills
tree-lined grassy-patched
sidewalks
Staten Island of the 80s
My mother said
I practiced words to myself
speaking them aloud
in the carseat in back
When I was dying,
she said my situation
was too stressful
she would rather not hear
about it
since she felt powerless
dipping out
of contact
for awhile
Thousands of miles
away
I chose this life
practiced words
and all
I am not there yet
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