74

standing out on the back porch
looking out on the suburban sprawl I
called home my whole childhood,
imagining all the quiet moments of
what I swore I wouldn’t miss:
cookie dough and street hockey
and whispering on the landline

I imagine all the time that has passed
years and years and years
stacked like pancakes my father
used to burn on the stove.
time came and went,
the stove was replaced, gone
and my sweet tooth, gone
and suddenly I was gone, too

I hear a voice call me back inside
to come back to bed
I see the sidewalk split in two
from all I remember and all I wish I wouldn’t forget
and for a split second,
I smell the sickly sweet of pancakes
and realize
memories are never kind, they
remind you of what you left behind.

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