There’s this empty alleyway
downtown near the bus stop
that I always look through
by now it is etched completely on my brain
carved in deep like a first memory
it’s red bricks jut up from heavy treading
litter is swept haphazardly to the sides
the buildings are scarred from rear view mirrors and graffiti
and it’s shadowy corners are quiet with waiting
for the next passerby.
In it I see myself
the rust red brick when I blink
the dirtied mortar caked under my fingernails
and the right angles that structure my mind.
Most bizarrely, that same anticipation stirs in my heart.
I love this empty alleyway because
we are both made and unmade
by the ones we let in.
