Somewhere in Foxhall Village, at the heart of Sylvania township, Toledo Ohio
stands a tree pining for two children it knew 15 years ago-
Now as the tumult of that dying town grows,
my sister walks out of her house toward that tree and finds the Inscription: (S/C)
and an echo of “where did you go?” etched into the passing days of her summer-
And as I tread that river of adulthood asking more questions than answering
I find that Toledo has become a minefield;
one I traverse every year trying to find my childhood,
one that basks in its poverty since the close of the GM plant,
one that begs: where have all the children gone?
When I was 10 years old, I built a cavern in the haunches of Sylvania’s petrified back,
I made the effort to find respite from my father
teaching my sister how to pronounce reciprocated, teaching me that
for the better part of my adolescence I would be a fool— that I
would be terrible at love.
I built a cavern out of summer and called it the place where finite
and want would meet, and how the world is a universe to a child,
And how was I to know your alcoholic father beat you,
I was only 9 and you were a girl in the same neighborhood
who taught me what the rampant beating in my chest was,
And after weeks of hiding in the forest around Foxhall, he finally found us—and you
looked as death would at finding love for first time; I never saw you again.
But if I saw you now Sasha,
I would build a bridge from Los Angeles to Toledo, decorate the railings with the dreams of sleeping children, construct
;a flying ship out of old piano guts to come and find you because it will always be summer
between us, and it will never be summer for either of us again—
I would cut angelic snowflakes out of paper stolen at the liquor store on Reynolds’ road, hang them off your ceiling to
make you dream ever-winter in your mind so that every summer you would walk outside
your home, go past our tree and think about our removed childhood from each other—
I would tell you that all memories dance in the haggard chest of youth, I would tell you about being a child, and being
a man,I would tell you about running a risk at the expense of an orphan thought, I would
tell you,I would tell you, I would tell you— that I am not a child anymore. That we are
no longer children, and that you will find the world in a heart-beat, never forget the sound
of yours,or I have never forgotten mine…