Park Way; A Poem

Early childhood feels ft. me celebrating my third year a day early.

​Park Way
​
I drove a new route home today,
and found myself by the road
that had the first house I lived in
that we moved away from before I turned six
and I hadn't visited since.

I didn't remember the house number,
but I knew I'd recognize the house
and the tree on the curb corner
that my parents had planted 
to celebrate my sister's birth.

I drove down the road waiting
for the transcendental cinematic moment
in which I see the house, break down crying
and ask the new owners if I can step inside
and revisit the room my brother and I had shared.

I drove down the road to the end,
and I drove down again the other way,
​
​and couldn't recognize a single house.