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July 2015, vol 11 no 2

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Peter Newton


Our folks must’ve known their reasons for buying three different houses on the same street. Not all at the same time, of course. Over twenty-odd years with other moves between. Once for Dad’s job. Another for Mom’s homesickness. They must have wanted to give us a sense of belonging despite the upheavals. Most of the people on that quiet street stayed put. We were the ones coming and going. All these years into my life and the names of those neighbors are chain-linked together like a close-knit family. Block after block of identical brick ranches. All the same size yards. A flowering pear out front. Swing set out back. The sidewalk drying around my stick-written initials like I owned the place.

only the wind
telling the trees
time to let go