234

I walk by your old house

and the door is moved

from the neighbors drive

to the front yard

But there is a new path

leading to new stairs

and I stare

and can’t see the old pool

because its torn down

I remember the feel of the stoned path

to your back porch

and my bare feet smacking against them.

I remember your garage

and that damn shed

and the broken chain-link fence near it

where we used to sneak and hide

in the game

I remember kick ball

and the sensor light

that came on at night telling me

to go home

and return the next day.

Now there are foreign cars in the driveway

and a woman I don’t recognize

decides to sweep

the back patio like there’s

dirt surrounding it

But it’s my memories

my past

your house

your ghost.

But you aren’t a ghost

because you aren’t dead—

just counties away at some school

with other friends that aren’t me

and we haven’t been friends

for nine years

since something happened

between me and you with them to us

and I can’t recognize

you anymore

and you wouldn’t know me.

And I’m sitting here now at this new coffee shop

that popped up within the last two years

wondering why you’re on my mind

but your house—

because it’ll always be yours to me—

was on my path.

And I wonder if when you

come back to visit

if you’ll see this place

and sit where I am

and think of me.

-for Holly