What it was

No more room to lay
a wreath upon the stub
of a landmark:

the name of the hero,
made illegible in the press
of new construction—

And I did not even want
to enter the street that once
led to our first home,

whose shape the fog, anyway,
would not let me discern.
An unfamiliar gas station

blinked its signs
in a lot no longer empty,
next to billboards

advertising Thai massage
and Unlimited Texting.
All I wanted

was to smell bread
lifted new from the hearth.
And if not that,

then to find the headstones
of those who ate with us,
made clean by the rain.


In response to Via Negativa: Lo que soy/What I am....

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