Against the mirrored grid of buildings there stands
a labyrinth of hay bales erected for the harvest festival
a ruined fortress of shaggy bricks
with low walls so the kids don't get lost
Long ago we used to navigate
the network of alleyways,
past dilapidated garages and dogs barking
behind the fences of the backyards
on our way to the diner
where there was a Ms. Pac Man machine
in the foyer solely for us to scream at.
At night we'd get snagged on the thorns
of our arguments, tangled in the blankets
and the brambles.
I'm not sure if there's a way out
or if I'm just following the twists and turns,
hitting one dead end after another
in this memory palace.
I envy the creek, that watery path
that never gets lost
as it trickles single-mindedly
between the trees,
pushing through the leaves
that try to clog it
I hope you find your way,
ping-ponging between the stars,
weaving through the clouds
of celestial dust.
I take the thread you used to sew
your dolls, to bind your little books
and unroll it behind me
until it runs out and I'm left holding
a bare wooden spool
which I slip into my pocket
and continue on
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