Forgotten Streets

Sidewalk cracks swallow the shouts

and the footfalls that made my childhood loud.

Windows slam shut—cold faces retreat.

The city folds over me like damp fabric.

Graffiti peels from rusted fire escapes,

a shattered streetlamp flickers weak,

a blink, a cough, then dark,

nothing bright enough to notice me here.

The corners where I ran now swallow dust,

no one calls my name, or cares enough

for voices swallowed by concrete walls

that never cracked for hope to escape.

Here, being seen is a flicker

gone out before I knew I needed light,

a city unmoved,

quiet as broken glass underfoot.