Turmaline
Bright lights
as the firetruck creeps by through a hole in the bushes.
Sometimes the front door doesn't work
and it's a bother getting in
...
There’s a vacuum inside me as I picture a real estate agent showing this place off with her kerchief and the new house stench
laid in over the California oranges
even the ones we could never reach
We used to run from the stooping palm in the driveway
to the other side of a fence,
Back and forth,
though we never climbed it,
past shells from the beach
held in place by rocks from who knows where
It must still be here
the cannon balls
the stomping swing set
the home depot garage
and a balcony with a wide view of the valley
where people live and sleep at night.
Each in their own little home
where their memories hibernate.
To this day my grandma has kept a garden
where she grows plants that help your vision at night,
all things tangerine,
and a messy plant over a plum tree stump.
There was never a smile like my violet grin
in the picture
in the garage
of me
balancing between limbs on that plum tree
looking at my grandma
behind the camera
at the house and not away.
That fruit will never fall again
and there will never be a better place to watch the New Year’s fireworks
than that balcony facing the setting sea.