Suicide Sidewalks
Michelle Greenblatt
past the pond sealed with algae
down on Oakland Park Boulevard and
State Road 7 where the children play
in the tattered streets
in front of the bruised homes
with a deflated
ball on the suicide sidewalks
gutted by pot-holes and long
dead fathers— courage, her face
shows courage, and years, hollowed
out by a dead and dying family, a house
unbuilding itself, deconstructing under
the pinch of a needle, the last daughter
collapsing in the bathroom, eyes rolling
back in pleasure. the mother’s slow stride,
her eyes, caving from the inside out,
destitute drags on her cigarettes, trapped
in America the tragic, dreaming of America
the magic, imagining a world where her daughter
will eat instead of feed,
praying for a place where her dead daughter
is still alive, sitting on the worn sofa, suturing
all her wounds. to have enough life to go
living, to have enough stars so that
she doesn’t need a sky— she gets down
on her knees and she prays and she weeps
and she breathes raggedly.
She is hungry but sold her food stamps
for money so she could pay for her
living daughter’s last uninsured
hour long stay in the hospital.
(Charcoal)
She watches through
the window as the children play
in front of the bruised homes
with a deflated
ball on the suicide sidewalks
gutted by pot-holes and long
dead fathers.
