Silver St., Southie

This is the land I come from
the land of
broken tar,
cracks in the sidewalk.

The place where roaches are squatters surviving a desperate home filled with spackled dreams.

She erased the young lovers from the mural on the wall
leaving just an empty tree
never to be climbed again
an artist whitewashing her future.

The land of white knuckles and fight clubs; of white men with dangerous pasts and drunken futures all too close and personal.

A city of tears and required loyalty to false gods.

paints the streets
with dreams of escape,
of knowledge beyond
the corners and the cracks

I watch from my second-floor window, the souls that stroll past the burnt out warehouse across the street mirroring their young and angry lives.

Me. Hiding.

Afraid to see myself as the same hollowed out wasteland whose heart smells of burnt wood and mildew.

I hold my innocence and integrity steadfastly close shutting out
the pain of
dying dreams,
lost expectations.

Laughing at my intimate lonely world filled with fantasies so not to cry.

Free Myself…

Patch the wounds
Fill the cracks
Plant the seeds that will sprout from new and fertile earth

A tree
never to be hollowed out,
rooted in acceptance.

I will climb
Out of the fear
Into the future



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Life Poems 3

What I learned from Mommy, Daddy and Baby Mouse

There is security in a stuffed mouse. I tell the truth, nothing can beat a conversation only they and you can understand. Secrets shared and compassion given in times of need. Mommy mouse never failed to show up. Her plump gray body and yellow plaid belly held nothing but comfort.

One day Daddy mouse came into our circle, I’m not sure why. His eyes were so stark they scared me. He wasn’t as plump and soft either. Suddenly one morning his eyes had turned into sunshines, two beautiful blue and gold buttons with the rays of the sun shining back. He could never be mommy mouse but he calmed me now, finding a way to help me accept his uniqueness. I learned to love his eyes.

Baby mouse seemed to come from nowhere too. He was the last. I remember is his big ears that were fun to twist until terrifyingly they fell away from his head. He too became part of our strange little family, always smiling. Though deaf, he seemed quite content.

These friends slept on my bed each night quietly observing, quietly teaching me to love and accept the strangeness of my heart.