I stink

On the way back from steamy Tompkins Sq play ground yesterday evening my son, Mateo, said, "no, stop it, you stink" and kicked his Croc sandals off in to the street. Being 2.5 years old and willful, I should not have been surprised or even that upset, but yesterday felt different. For what feels like the 4th time in my life I am making a major move and it does not feel slight. Yes, I have done this shift between NYC and Texas before, but there have been just a few times when those treasured possessions have been disbursed. Yesterday, I saw my beloved books being rifled through, tossed around in delivery boxes and commented upon. My library is wiped clean. A young woman asked if I had any poetry books and I nodded enthusiastically, happy to unload some weight in the 100 degree heat of the late afternoon. With those give aways goes a certain part of my life's dreams, my aspirations, my hope. The focus has been just to get there, to find work and survive, and I had forgotten to pay homage to the history here on 4th street. Sometimes history can haunt but yesterday it said a teary good bye. I may stink now for not letting Mateo go down that slide one or two or three more times, but I hope some day he'll know how much it took to get to that play ground, and how hard it is to leave.