6 Brief Impressions of Wyckoff New Jersey Upon Returning

It is a strange moment when you realize
that in the place where you grew up,
skinned knees,
learned to bike,
kissed Ben Goodman by the water fountain
and then denied it,
you are now just a tourist.

***
Woke up.
There is a sort of dizziness
with a momentary heart palpitation.
Where is the girl from this room?
Did I kill her? Strike her out.
Or is she hunkered down in my heart

waiting to jump forth,

sass-faced and switchblade-tongued
when I say something foolish
or trip over my own two little feet.

***
In Polish there is a word, teskanota,
which means nostalgia with a twinge of sadness.
I keep running this through my head as I bike to the old library soaked in sweat.
Having been small here I remember it as bigger, mustier.
I did not recall the lack of anything
other than children’s books and Danielle Steele novels.

***
Ponch shows up at noon
and we shiver in the park drinking bitter coffee.
We talk about Mexico,
his abandoning of this place for a warmer climate.

He ran south as I headed north.
He shakes his head,
“You can’t bleach it, you can’t burn it, it’s in the marrow of your bones.”
We will crack that history open, and examine the red insides.
Then part, not to see one another for a few years.
We will still lean towards one another,

across countries and continents,
little sunflowers.

***
I get lost in the park and somehow end up at a strip mall,
all paths here eventually lead to one I suppose.
The same five kids are hanging out
and the cliché familiarity breeds contempt hammers in my head.
I find myself hoping that these five do not breed at all
for the sake of humanity, and the Wyckoff P.D.

***

This is the place

where I

fell down went bang

and set the precedent for my whole life to follow-

fell down went bang

got up again

again

until the falling and the standing

molded me

by the force of my own weight crashing

over and over

amen