Flaming red and yellow leaves
cover the sidewalk
like bits of flame that have given
up on jumping
in piles of remembrance.
Dogs pull their whining owners
down the sidewalk
and occasionally stop
to feed someone’s yard
with a steaming coil
of what nobody thinks is cute.
Squatting there above the grass
nearly upright,
they could be pink flamingos
of beauty reading pages of home
for their more subtle natures
reflecting back at them
from an album of living room
family photos.
At the food pantry a volunteer
handing me a package
of frozen hot dogs
says bless you to me,
and though I’m not religious
I say bless you back
because I believe a godliness
exists within each of us.
Really? he says to me,
like a teacher going over a
multiple choice test
after it has already been corrected
in order to make sure you didn’t
misunderstand your options.
That night I’m home
with my feet up
in front of the TV,
and though I can’t make out
what they are saying,
I can hear the downstairs
neighbors
talking back and forth,
the way versions of me
talk back and forth inside me
while I’m writing a poem.
I scroll through my social media
and like a couple of things I see,
then hide a couple of things
I don’t want to see.
Who knew this would be
what passes for a talk with family.
I’m not part of this world.
Never was.
Although, there was that time
I played a video game
for more than ten hours straight,
I could have converted
into the silent warrior
floating down staircases of dark
memory looking for that monster
ugly, stinking feeling
I never wanted
to look in the eye.
Though sometimes I wish it was,
I’ve always known
a bright, shining,
early morning kind of beauty
wasn’t my kind of home.
It’s obvious
in the way I stare
across yard after yard
of being in awe
about how alone I can be,
like a dog that can’t understand
why it doesn’t like
to leave itself behind.
