I grew up on simple street. #101. I’d say that address to myself before I fell asleep. I used to think of that number and its shape as part of my identity. It was a balanced family home, with strong supports on either side and an always open door in the middle class neighborhood. Our family was comfortable and secure. Suddenly I felt the columns fall when my dad decided to buy his brother's home in fancy~schmancy. We moved into #33. All curly and looking only one way. My dad left us there off balance and I toppled into adulthood too fast and stopped counting.

forty years later
a six year old asks my age
six and a half I say

11/30/2016

Author's Note: published So CA Haiku Study Group Anthology 2016 "What the Wind Can't Touch"

Posted on 11/30/2016
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