To My Old Addresses

Oakland, NJ:

The apple tree, a yawn of lawn

where my father planted a vegetable garden,

porch where we played, 

a banister where my sister

lost a tooth, the accordion door

to my bedroom. Traffic

lights told stories on my walls.

A-Frame rental, Valley of Lakes, PA:

Red shag carpet, a loft, and stairs

with a space underneath I turned

into a post office. The pond my sister and I named

Anniversary Pond, one I wrote about twenty years later,

falling in love with the idea

of what is underneath the surfaces

of the world. So many.

Valley of Lakes, PA:

A dogwood tree, a deck with a space

left for a tree to grow through it, rooms

where my sister and I slammed doors

or created radio shows, a forest of cicadas

to wake to, dirt roads, a lake and a canoe.

The woods where I grew up, my parents

so young in t-shirts and jeans,

my grandmothers visited on Sundays,

holidays, and birthdays. Potato salad.

Nanticoke, PA:

first apartment during college,

my roommate’s knick-knacks and kimchee.

The Peeping Tom who left

a mountain of cigarette butts

on the lawn by the kitchen window.

Nanticoke, PA:

Not enough outlets to have

the fishtank and the coffeepot

plugged in at the same time,

a landlord who clipped his toenails

while my grandmothers visited

his real estate office. Green

shag carpeting. A kitchen table

from the 1960s, all vinyl and chrome.

My grocery receipts included

items that were only a dollar or less.

Ephrata, PA:

Home with Mom and Dad

for summer, then for a year or so

of a self-imposed college sabbatical.

Scrabble on the side porch, dinners with dad

while mom worked the three to eleven shift

at the hospital. House full of light.

Wilkes-Barre, PA:

Three flights up to a layered torte

of more green shag carpeting. My father

paid some co-workers to help him

haul  my apartment sized piano

up all those stairs. I didn’t play

it enough for that.

Topton, PA:

A slow chain of buildings with

blue doors, and a train that went by

at 1 a.m. every morning.

The piano only went up one flight

this time. When the building manager

had the units sprayed for roaches,

they only worked in the hallways,

so roaches became a staple.

Traps everywhere, scuttling

when the lights were flipped on.

Reading, PA:

Eight months pregnant, I painted

the ceiling of the bedroom

in our brick rowhome, and slept

on a mattress on the floor.

Later, I brought my new daughter

home and there was a bed.

Three floors to play with, and the top

had two rooms for painting and writing.

Our neighbor’s mouth was hidden by facial hair,

and he grew tomatoes where his dogs shat.

Gunfire.

Other neighbors threw eggs

at each other in the street.

Nanticoke, PA:

Here again, hello. Another whole

house to ourselves, two floors.

Cherry tree in the back,

a kitchen big enough to dance in.

Long walks in the strip mined land

my daughter called “The Jungle.”

Edwardsville, PA:

The first house I bought, then bought again

with the help of my parents during a divorce.

Not one right angle in it, thanks to the area's

coal mining heritage. The love of my life helped

paint the rooms alive again. My daughter

wore a cat tail, a ladybug costume,

a prom dress,  a graduation cap,

and then a baker’s toque.

We packed everything

but the years of growth

marked on the doorjamb.