We lived somewhere. I was out in the yard, I looked around. I thought, where are we?

Where do we live now?

 

I came inside and asked you: what town do we live in? At first,

you seemed concerned about me, but in a minute you said: God… I just don't know.

 

We tried to picture the streets, but couldn't get past

a certain point. We couldn't get to a landmark.

 

We couldn't ask the neighbor.

But looking at her house across the street I had the feeling we had lived there too.

 

I could see her kitchen floor. In my mind. What a strange thing, I thought.

Why don't we live there anymore?

 

Why did it matter what Valerie might think?

Valerie would never meet Mañuel.

 

On the fence?--that's American Bittersweet.

First they take your sugar, then they try to find out how much coal you have.

 

 

 

 

© Kate Greenstreet

originally published in Bird Dog