pavement
i used to call chris gummy bear
because of his looks
and i loved him like a brother.
he was a genius too,
always something to yap about.
one night, after the movies,
he said,
hey, chi, my parents are divorcing!
then he laughed,
not knowing what else to do,
and we both laughed
as we felt ourselves die.
chris kept disappearing after that
into the shadows
between the cracks of a koreatown alley,
running away on the pavement
toward a hell away from los angeles
to find comfort in the fire that burns us,
and grace tells me
on a future hot afternoon
that chris is in jail.
for what, i say.
he broke into a house, she says, found
a little boy inside, so he tied him up
and put a gun to his little head.
i laugh again
to not feel it,
to turn the earth backwards like superman,
to not die,
but my hands are empty,
my prayers are mute,
and the shadows are bleeding
and i reach out
and i put my hand on grace’s shoulder
to keep from falling,
to keep from breaking,
and say to her
that it will be alright,
that everything will be alright,
that we are all happy together
in our lives
and that the street beneath us
will keep us standing
as it moves us from one place to another,
nothing more,
nothing less.
