Do you ever get sent back
To a place you thought you forgot
Lost in the recesses of your memory
Never to be found again
The back of my throat smells like
My grandmother’s beautiful house
On James Street
That I would only experience
Every so often
As a child
So I had to cling to each window
Each door frame
Every dust particle
To soak it up and pray the memory
Doesn’t leak out over time
But fifteen years and
One deep breath later
There I am
Standing in her living room
As I look up expectantly at the
Giant staircase
Waiting for my cousins to come
Bounding down to play
putting down the rope 