junk in the past

there was this window.
whoosh of satellites on fire.
a girl brooding over the disappearance of her tongue.
something i could not quite make out, could not touch and live, the end to sharing love.
a gold crucifix on the walls above each bed.
two friends of mine kissing out of fear.
cat whispering my name, asking me to change form and slither out the garden through
a hole it made beneath the fence…. i almost went.
another childhood friend with a cheap metal six-gun pointed at my head, one eye closed,
one eye aiming lead.
a broken down bicycle sinking gone into the lawn.
mom and dad wanting to wave goodbye, but they just can’t so they cry tears onto each
other’s toes, each other’s chests, until tearstains are the way they dress.
there was mom and dad taking my high school portrait and winging it to the street.
a man with a ball and chain around his feet, on his knees, begging our backyard apple
tree for a little something to eat.
a boy who looked like me looking for a place to rest.
a boy who looked like me taking the switchblade test, biting his lip until it bled, the 
knife dropped into his hand.
there was smoke always sneaking around like burglars.
a girl who would not laugh and would not cry.
girl backlit by the sun.
there was something i should have said or should have done.
there was a window that looked on where no one knows why there was a place.