The Water Month

I remember days in the silent home
the littered floor and dripping faucet.
The wind. The windows.

I remember days in the crooked yard.
The leaning fence, sweet peas
and wet charcoal.

Before the demolition, the open oven.
The statue and rattling doors.
The moving men.

On the day of the parade
I left behind
my letters.

Poems by John Waldman: