the hill

i sat and watched, and listened, to this small island town and wondered when i would leave. When would i leave and would i ever come back. would i ride that ferry from redhook to cruz bay, would i walk off the dock to a square with unmanned taxis whose drives took to circles to either shoot the shit or play dominoes, would i walk passed the school passed the gas station and wait for a ride up the hill to home.as i sat and the heat and wind competed for my comforts i could not come up with a reason why, after my mother leaves it will just be an island, like any other, except for having harbored the most awkward ages of my childhood.

giant

staring out the window, you - an awkwardly tall, thin young Chinese man, in clothes that tell me you haven't fully integrated into the world that you'd now found yourself in. I had to stop and stare, even taking a seat on the curb across from your window, watching as you'd stared out at the non-stop stream of traffic on a busy 19th avenue. i imagined your brain processing this new place, examining the traffic, the people that it was made up, for an opening with which you could jump in to, a space that would allow you to take part, to work, to commute, shop, participate aside all of the rest of those driving by your window.