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
imminent
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
power
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
Richard
Richibi's Weblog 