me in B major – 60 Jubilee East‏

by richibi


                                        our home, when I was a boy
a cousin of mine, who, indeed, lived
in the sliver of a house on the left in 
the above picture, sent my mom and 
I this photo of the house I used to live 
in, back when I was a boy
he’d been visiting an aunt of his, who 
still lived around the corner, and 
noticed that our place was up for sale
should I put in an offer, he asked on
his cell phone
it’s smaller than my apartment, I said,
amazed that two parents and two 
children could live till I was at least 
fourteen in such a small enclosure
it had been a chicken coop before my 
father made it into our home, after we’d 
moved out of the garage that went with 
my cousin’s house, but my dad’d moved  
it forward from further behind its eventual 
garage, pictured above, closer to the 
street, added an attic, where we children  
each had a room, and a basement, 
complete with a sauna room that 
doubled as a bomb shelter should the 
Soviets strike
this was not, to my mind, so far-fetched
cause our town was about midway 
between the USA and what we now 
again call Russia, the USSR 
I was only ten or twelve when this was
going on, and children think like that,
back then, everyone thought like that, 
nuclear obliteration was, or is this still 
the boy in me talking, not inconceivable, 
therefore, like earthquakes on the west 
coast of the Americas, potentially 
the lawn is untended, like our 
neighbours yard back then, I said, 
over the phone, remember, ours was 
always mown, of course, I might’ve 
been doing it, with those cylindrical 
blades before power lawnmowers, 
then again I don’t remember being 
upset by it so maybe my father had 
been taking care of the landscaping,
there had also been hedges 
I don’t remember a fence on the stoop 
at the front door, I don’t remember 
stairs either, for that matter, but that 
was years ago, nor have I since then, 
but briefly, been there 
from the little window at the alcove,
I used to dangle my little sister from
her ankles, suggesting she might 
look into the kitchen to watch my 
grandmother doing dishes
somehow I always got her back up, 
nor did she ever get to see my 
grandmother, she neither her, either 
of which situation could’ve led to 
my dropping my sister onto the 
asphalt, which, in fact, had been, 
while we were kids, installed 
God/dess, I warrant, is merciful, and 
perhaps watches over little children  
then again, children are smart, I 
believe, haven’t lost their instinctive
I knew I wouldn’t drop my sister 
and didn’t
was that coincidence, or the innate 
power of children, to fly, to imagine, 
before it is controlled