ago she found them.

they’d been sitting

in plain view

since before her

mom died.

well, not exactly

in plain view…

they were covered by

a couple of books,

but i could see

them from where i

sat every day,

working on our taj.

it helped

that i knew they

were there,

otherwise i probably

would have looked

past them as well.

but at two years

three months and

six days,

she found them.

i didn’t hesitate

when she said,

“oh! daddy!” in

that voice she

only uses when

she’s excited about something

(and she uses it a lot).

i lifted the books,

and pulled

out the box.

with a little help,

they were soon

liberated from the

plastic and held

tightly in her hands.

no longer did

they look like

choking hazards.

now,

they were gifts her

mom had intended

for her future daughter.

the daughter she

dreamed of

is here,

but she is not.

it from time to time,

but i wasn’t sure i’d

ever come across

it again.

i had a vague sense

of where it was,

but it’s not like i

i really end up

near this place all

that often.

so the memory could

have remained just that.

i’ve gone much further

to find the places

i’ve wanted

to rediscover, and this

one is so close

that it could have

happened much sooner

so today,

it did.

not meant to be,

it just was.

as it all is

these days.

sitting here,

i thought that

where we were

wasn’t where i thought

any of us would be

just four

years earlier,

but who really can

predict anything?

believe me when

i say

i’m glad that

i can’t.

in places you wouldn’t

expect to find them.

like in the roller

under a vacuum.

there they were…

but what to do

with them?

give them up to

the wind, and

let it take

them away.

but little makes sense.

it’s not the clock

that’s upside down.

it’s me.

i’ve not heard It

in a really long

time, but a few months

ago i heard the distinct

sounds of that

voice coming through

the speakers, begging me

to once again feel.

it wasn’t his song,

but it didn’t matter.

used to be,

is a thin line,

dug deep into my

skin, one that only

i can see,

a reminder that

they’re still there

even if

they’re not where

they used to be.

that line will not

be there forever,

but the mark

they left on me

will remain until

i breathe no longer.

the darkness fell

upon us,

i came up with

an arbitrary goal…

wear them one day

longer than

her.

but this wasn’t the

first time i let

some unspoken goal

determine my behavior.

no,

giving myself

a personal challenge that

eventually becomes

a near obsessive compulsive disorder,

this is a problem

i’ve always had.

like that time

as a kid when

i decided that everything

had to be done

an even number of times.

or that time

i wondered how

long i could go without

drinking soda,

(six years, five months and twenty five days).

but there’s nothing magical

about any of this.

about 947 days,

so 743 it was.

she would have been

surprised that i’d made

it this long

with them.

me what i do.

when i told her

she asked,

“how do you come up with them?”

“i don’t know,” i said.

“i can’t make them stop.”

and it reminded me that

i used to wonder,

are there enough of them?

they seemed so hard to

come by before that

moment, but now,

they’re as plentiful as

the rays of light

blanketing los angeles

in july.

these things,

they’re that rope

i found hanging from

the sky that day,

the one i held,

floating away

as the rest of

the world disappeared.

and as tightly as

i’ve clung to them,

they’re the reason i

can let go

of some things.

the particulate of the

world outside the open window,

finding it’s way inside,

dancing in the light

of the room,

the way it used to

when i woke up

in the light.

for so long i’ve awoken

before the light,

to the sounds of

of the dark.

with time now nothing more

than a source of confusion,

the light, and not

the dark,

is what

i wake up to.

and the memories of

those particles,

some slow, some with

great speed, floating through

the light and disappearing

into my room.

today,

i remembered what it

was like to wonder.

they sounds like heels.

six floors below,

pounding out the sound

of a woman determined.

determined to do

what, i don’t know.

but she sounds like

she’s walking away from something.

before tonight, i’d

never realized that the sound

of a woman’s shoes on

a cobblestone sidewalk

could tell me

so much.