For the Old Shack on 7 1/2 Street [And All My Other Riches]
Sometimes goodbyes slip through the cracks.
And sometimes they are long, like a deep breath in
the middle of the night and a red light in Texas.
But more than that, they are richer moments;
They are Mexican coffee beans in the morning and
chairs around a folding table,
Tightly held hands while we pray - just to be sure of the other.
I need the goodbye, but perhaps you do too
and I never realized it until now -
when I miss the house on the corner with the dolls in the window
and ceiling-long bookshelves;
The bald man skating along Allen Park Way who never stopped dancing
and little girls under blanket forts made for telling stories.
I take a deep breath and it's gone in two minutes:
Floods of rain storms and fogged windows
Sewing machines, cement roads, apricot orange teapots
Dusty boots, scruffy dogs like
Egypt the puppy and
Nervous conversations. Hands I never shook.