Tuesday, April 24, 2018


I stood at the top

Of a tall, narrow,

Weather beaten stairway

Watching my parents

And my two little brothers

Drive away,

Far away,

All the way

Down the dirt and gravel alley.

Wind whirled around

And punched me


Very deep,

In my stomach.

Wind wrapped his icy fingers

Around my throat

Wind whispered in my ear,

"They're leaving forever,

You know.

There they go."

A salty tear slid

Down my cheek

And into my mouth.

My parent's car vanished

As it turned out of

The dirt and gravel alley.

"Venga mijo,

Hace frío afuera,"

Grandma said.

I didn't want to go


I didn't care

If it was cold.

I wanted to run,

To run after my parents.

Wind froze my ears

And whispered once again,

"They're leaving,

You know.

They're already gone."

Grandpa opened the door,

Grandma nudged me in.

Wind whistled a tune,

"They're never,

Ever coming back

For you."

The ethereal aroma of burning coal wafted into my nostrils' memory as I wrote this poem.
I was 7 yeasts old when my parents drove from Albuquerque to Salt Lake City and left me with my grandparents. My father transferred his job to Long Beach,  California. My parents  didn't know where they would end up living. They didn't want to disrupt my schooling.

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