2121 Paulding Poem by Monica O'Connor

February 12,2009

i inhaled.
and with the air i breathed in the scent of time gone by.
i breathed in Morris Park in the spring.
the blooming trees in the front of 2121 Paulding Avenue.
green, and full.
and so deeply i gasped for the warmth of the sun,
and the smell of the train station next door,
and the sound of the subway bringing my father home to me.
i remembered.
i remembered alot.
my mother, taking me to the Bronx Zoo when i was nine.
and my grandmother, yelling down to me in the park
from our 7th story apartment, telling me it was dusk,
time to come inside.
she'd meet me in the laundry room.
my grandfather on the terrece, the only time i remember him being home.
mornings before St. Francis Xaiver Catholic School.
consisting of Dexter's Lab, warm Nutrigrain bars,
and sunshine through the terrece door,
casting and orange glow over the living room, a glare across the tv.
the red kitchen cabinet doors.
my aunt coming up from the 5th floor for coffee and breakfast.
my black cat.
the speckles on the floor,
and the countless number of times i tried to count each and every one.
my grandmother tying my shoes.
climbing the railing in the lobby while she got the mail.
the concrete stairs, the smell of my block.
Lydig Avenue,
the lotto store, and the asian lady at the fruit market.
sprinting to each corner, and laughing at my grandmother
who was screaming of course.
terrified as i stood on the brink of traffic.
i exhaled and i was here.
an inhale, and the same sea salt as always,
bringing me back to times that i will only miss when im gone,
and can smell the ocean from miles away.