My ma says

She pushed my stroller

around the bumpy streets of

Queens, Jamaica, Long Island,

even Manhattan,

Through rain and snow, all

alone.

Finding no help from the

passengers, all ignoring her

silent plea

It’s a long way home,

miles of pavement and sky.

As we drive,

the sun chases us,

and the clock turns.

Radio changes,

melodies blur together,

making one endless song,

duets and duets of notes.

The Ponderosa Pines hunched ponderously,

Their convoluted gestures frozen

With dry, rasping limbs in stages of vexation

And narrow forearms lifted high

In savored moments of exalted epiphany.

My brother and I climbed the questions

So many people crowded into one wave pool.

All together in one container,

Yet in separate groups, hardly mingling with others.

The designers did their best to replicate nature,

But only to an extent.

Waves for five minutes, rest for five minutes,