ROBERT WILSON

ROBERT WILSON

"STONEWOOD FOREST"

I sat under the

peach tree in those

days, watching

the sun set on my

bandaged home while my

mom chain smoked on

the porch. I would glance at

the girls playing

kickball in the cement circle

that was our block and

butterflies would get stuck

inside my ribcage. I knew I

didn't have a chance with

any of them when they would

drill degradation into my

ears but I didn't care.

I was young and

hope burst from my

pores, even when disease

and funerals tried to

hold it back. Sometimes I would

play with the child next door

or my best friend. We

were all alone in the

throes of that

suburban malnourishment. I

haven't seen the kid next

door since I moved and

my best friend has

cancer. Me? I'm just

a fool writing about

buried days. These poems

peel from my

fingertips like the flowers

that were on my bedroom

wall. I still see the old

neighborhood sometimes in

my dreams, it's love and

filth perfectly preserved. I

want to go back

there. I

want to

set it all

on fire.