CHILDHOOD

Laughter once filled my nursery,
yet makes me sigh at dark moments. curly
clouds and deep black oceans.

My childhood in the ghettos. We used to spray the
hose at full blast on the black Buick on those ninety-
degree New York days until steam rose from the hood
and trunk. In boxers and tee-shirts, before we knew
the meaning of puberty, we slid, screaming, down the
back of the car.
My childhood in the ghettos. We used to fight like
death didn't exist. They taught me how to use my fists,
how to use my words.