5712

This Eggshell white apartment wasn’t always so empty, clean or pale. Four mangu infused kids ran down the tiled hall spilling Legos & green toy soldiers like activated mines. Laughter crumpled silence like dry leaves against a rusty rake on 57th. Even faucets flowed freely, the water playing tag down the pipes of an ivory sink. The toothpaste was always it. We are all adults now; paying bills, working & hoping to meet up. Still chasing the echoes of our bare feet running through the sheetrock cereal box.

AG

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